A.    F.    Lange 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO   THE 
STUDY   OF   LITERATURE 


'?&&& 


AN  INTRODUCTION 


TO  THE 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

FOR    THE    USE   OF 

SECONDARY  AND   GRADED  SCHOOLS 


EDITED  BY 

EDWIN    HERBERT   LEWIS,  Ph.D. 

ASSOCIATE  PROFESSOR  IN  THE  LEWIS   INSTITUTE;    AUTHOR  OF 
"A  FIRST  BOOK  IN  WRITING  ENGLISH" 


THE   MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

LONDON :   MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 
1899 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1899, 
Bv  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Norfaooli  P«ss 

J.  S.  dishing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


To  A.  H.  L. . 

I  HAVE  TRIED  TO  MAKE  A  BOOK  THAT 
YOU  WOULD  HAVE  APPROVED,  HAD  IT 
BEEN  GIVEN  ME  AT  FOURTEEN. 

E.  H.  L. 


56219! 


PREFACE 


It  would  seem  that  literature  ought  to  serve  as  a  prime 
agency  in  the  education  of  the  emotions  and,  indirectly, 
of  the  will.  This  is  particularly  true  of  the  early  ado- 
lescent age,  with  which  the  upper  grammar  and  the  lower 
high  school  grades  are  concerned.  If  the  study  of  English 
during  this  greatest  crisis  of  the  student's  life  is  merely 
formal,  he  loses  one  of  the  best  influences  school  can 
ever  give  him.  To  say  so  is  not  to  underestimate  the 
value,  ethical  or  commercial,  of  formal  training  in  compo- 
sition. There  is  need  for  Spartan  severity  regarding  chi- 
rography,  orthography,  punctuation,  syntax,  and  logic. 
The  task  of  securing  correctness  by  Spartan  methods, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  of  arousing  an  unconstrained  love 
for  noble  literature,  is  the  almost  hopeless  labor  set  for 
the  English  teacher.  Gradgrind  and  enemy  of  Gradgrind 
he  must  be  within  the  same  hour.  But  there  is  no  escap- 
ing the  double  duty,  and  no  denying  that  the  second  part 
of  it  is  the  more  important.  No  greater  danger  can 
beset  secondary  education  than  the  notion  that  its  true  aim 
is  merely  the  acquisition  of  instrument  knowledges ;  but, 
of  the  twin  evils  resulting  from  the  information  cult,  the 
neglect  of  ideals  is  worse  than  the  neglect  of  scholarly 
method. 

But  literature  is  in  the  schools;  the  problem  is,  How 
should  it  be  graded?  There  is  no  solution  in  following 
the  procrustean  principle  of  chronology.     However  valua- 


Vlll  PREFACE 

ble  an  historical  view  of  representative  authors  may  be  to 
the  pupil  of  eighteen,  it  has  little  value  for  the  younger 
pupil.  Were  the  authors  of  the  seventeenth  and  eigh- 
teenth centuries  interesting  to  fourteen-year-old  boys  and 
girls,  the  case  would  be  different.  Shakspere  interests 
this  age,  and  so  do  very  many  authors  of  our  own  day; 
Milton  and  Pope  and  Addison  usually  do  not.  In  grades 
eight  to  ten,  systematic  literary  history  is  hardly  a  defensible 
subject ;  yet  some  such  table  as  that  appended  to  this  volume 
may  prove  useful,  on  any  indication  that  the  student  is  be- 
coming interested  in  the  historical  significance  of  a  writer. 
If  the  instructor  utilizes  his  chances  to  speak  of  the  authors 
as  men,  the  knowledge  he  conveys  of  such  things  as 
Lamb's  heroism  and  Franklin's  thrift  will  repay  the  stu- 
dent better  than  learning  of  Lamb's  place  in  the  Eliza- 
bethan revival,  and  of  Franklin's  relation  to  the  English 
deists. 

The  student's  highest  normal  interests  are  the  chief 
things  to  regard  in  grading.  It  must  be  ascertained  by 
what  stages  the  imagination,  the  emotions,  and  the  char- 
acter develop.  Imagination  is  strong  throughout  youth, 
but  it  is  developed  now  by  one  interest,  now  by  another. 
Emotions  which  are  embryonic  to-day  are  blossoming  to- 
morrow. To  discover  the  stages  is  the  first  task.  The 
second  is  to  furnish  the  particular  masterpieces  "indi- 
cated." Theoretically  there  is  a  masterpiece  (written,  or, 
alas  !  unwritten)  for  every  month  of  the  student's  life. 
The  surest  way  of  learning  where  the  masterpieces  fit  is 
to  allow  the  student  to  "  browse "  in  a  library.  Lamb 
and  Ruskin  approved  this  method,  with  limitations ;  for 
though  Lamb  would  have  all  girls  educated  as  Bridget 
Elia  was  educated,  by  being  "turned  loose  in  a  roomful 
of  old  books"  the  phrase  just  quoted  meant  with  Lamb 
the  Elizabethan  dramatists  ;  and  though  Ruskin  is  thankful 


PREFACE  IX 

for  having  been  allowed  the  run  of  a  library,  it  was  a 
library  carefully  chosen  by  a  man  whose  tastes  were  in- 
herited by  Ruskin.  Various  classes  in  the  Lewis  Institute 
have  been  encouraged  "to  browse,"  to  see  if  they  might 
not  hit  upon  a  body  of  literature  that  would  remain  a 
constant  interest  to  their  equals  in  age.  However  imper- 
fect and  incomplete  these  investigations,  the  sifting  process, 
upon  which  the  students  entered  actively  and  honestly, 
has  been  of  the  greatest  value  to  all  concerned.  It  has 
shown  that  noticeable  differences  of  interest  exist  between 
ninth  and  tenth,  tenth  and  eleventh  grades.  In  the  nature- 
sense,  for  instance,  as  it  appears  in  the  youth  not  hope- 
lessly hardened  by  "  business "  aims,  there  are  usually 
marked  changes  between  thirteen  and  sixteen.  The  change 
is  first  from  the  child's  scientific  curiosity  about  nature  to  a 
half-poetic,  but  objective,  interest  in  her ;  the  boy  becomes 
capable  of  direct,  unreflecting  joy  in  nature,  or  even  of 
direct  displeasure  with  her,  in  something  of  the  Homeric 
manner ;  then  he  slowly  grows  to  sympathize  with  the  mod- 
ern view,  so  much  more  imaginative  and  sometimes  so  much 
less  wholesome  than  Homer's. 

The  present  volume  is  offered  as  a  tentative  body  of 
lyrics,  ballads,  and  short  stories,  for  the  eighth,  ninth,  and 
even  tenth  grades.  It  draws  mostly  upon  nineteenth-century 
authors.  In  spite  of  hundreds  of  rejections  on  the  score  of 
form  alone,  it  includes  pieces  of  very  different  value  as  to 
form,  a  fact  which  should  never  be  allowed  to  escape  the 
student's  attention,  —  as  it  certainly  will  not  the  critic's. 
The  works  are  grouped  by  subjects  according  to  what 
are  believed  to  be  the  healthy  interests  of  the  early  ado- 
lescent period.  An  introduction  is  prefixed  to  each  chap- 
ter with  the  aim  of  pointing  out,  not  too  ingeniously,  a 
thread  of  meaning  common  to  all  the  pieces.  Although 
most  of  the  hundred  and  fifty  compositions  are  complete, 


X  PREFACE 

it  is  by  no  means  supposed  that  short  works  should 
suffice  for  these  years.  Not  later  than  the  eighth  grade 
the  boy  should  doubtless  become  acquainted  with  Homer 
in  rhythmical  or  metrical  translation.  Not  later  than  the 
ninth  he  should  doubtless  be  introduced  to  Cooper's  Leather- 
stocking  in  at  least  one  complete  novel  of  the  series.  Not 
later  than  the  tenth  he  should  read  a  play  of  Shakspere. 
Homer,  Shakspere,  and  Cooper  are  not  only  essential  ex- 
periences of  the  youth,  but  by  mere  length  compel  him 
to  consider  the  architectonics  of  art. 

The  present  volume  contains  a  great  many  poems,  all 
of  which  should  be  read  aloud,  except  the  few  (italicized 
in  the  table  of  contents)  which  are  perhaps  too  delicate 
for  oral  interpretation  by  young  students.  Those  starred 
are  particularly  good  for  learning  by  heart.1  Difficult  words 
should  be  pronounced  by  the  instructor  and  doubtful  pas- 
sages orally  interpreted  before  the  pupil  is  asked  to  prepare 
(always  overnight)  the  piece  he  is  to  read  facing  the  class. 
It  will  be  better  still  to  rehearse  the  whole  piece  for  the 
pupil  before  he  studies  it.  The  vigorous  poems  should 
be  given  to  the  vigorous;  the  swift  poems  to  the  sure  of 
speech ;  the  pathetic  to  the  self-controlled ;  and  the  droll 
to  those  who  are  risible. 

The  best  results  will  be  secured  with  the  book  if  it  is  not 
taken  too  rapidly.  It  will  yield  ample  material  for  three 
hours  a  week  of  recitation  for  forty  weeks ;  these  weeks 
may  be  successive  or  may  be  divided  into  twenty  for 
one  year  and  twenty  for  another.  Every  precaution  must 
be  taken  not  to  let  the  poetry  pall,  particularly  in 
Chapters  III  and  VI,  where  the  emotional  element  is 
large,   and   wherever   the    didactic    and    artistic    elements 

1  The  songs  may  properly  be  sung,  wherever  good  music  is  obtain- 
able—  like  Schubert's  for  Hark,  hark,  the  lark. 


PREFACE  XI 

are  imperfectly  fused.  It  is  assumed  that  the  student  is 
writing  themes  frequently,  and  perhaps  on  such  questions 
as  may  be  suggested  by  the  notes.  But  he  should  not 
be  allowed  to  lay  violent  hands  on  the  poetry  for  topics. 
That  is,  paraphrasing  and  set  criticisms  should  be  dis- 
couraged. It  is  better  for  the  teacher  to  do  whatever 
paraphrasing  is  necessary  for  the  understanding  of  the 
work,  and  to  change  the  diction  of  the  poet  as  little  as 
possible.  Three  hours  a  week  to  the  literature  for  its  own 
sake,  and  two  hours  (on  consecutive  days)  for  composition, 
is  probably  a  better  division  of  time  in  these  grades  than 
half  an  hour  daily  to  each  subject. 

Now  a  word  as  to  the  analytical .  parts  of  the  book  — 
the  general  introduction,  the  notes,  and  the  "plans  of 
summary."  Their  perhaps  overambitious  purpose  is  to 
suggest  a  very  elementary,  but  sound,  method  and  vocabu- 
lary of  criticism.  They  are  here  to  be  used  or  not  used 
as  every  teacher  thinks  best.  At  fifteen  the  boy  or  girl 
persists  in  a  certain  amount  of  self-analysis,  and  perhaps 
a  little  analysis  of  literature  may  be  a  legitimate  discharge 
for  this  impulse.  Just  how  much  of  this  kind  of  study  is 
healthful  in  the  eighth,  ninth,  and  tenth  grades  is  a  ques- 
tion not  for  theorists,  but  for  teachers.  It  is  a  question 
on  which  the  experience  of  other  teachers  is  entreated  by 
the  present  editor.  In  the  eighth  grade  it  may  be  best 
to  omit  all  the  editorial  matter.  In  the  ninth  it  may  be 
best  to  omit  only  the  general  introduction,  or  a  part  of  it, 
or  to  give  it  after  the  literature  has  come  to  be  liked  and 
felt.  One  thing  is  certain,  that  the  analytic  notes  should 
not  be  studied  by  the  student  till  he  has  read  and  enjoyed 
the  piece  itself. 

The  editor's  thanks  are  due  to  the  following  gentlemen, 
the  publishers  whose  courtesy  has  made  this  work  possi- 
ble :  Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  Messrs.  Harper  and 


xii  PREFACE 

Brothers,  Messrs.  D.  Appleton  and  Co.,  Messrs.  Longmans, 
Green,  &  Co.,  Messrs.  Little,  Brown,  &  Co.,  Messrs.  G.  P. 
Putnam's  Sons,  Mr.  John  Lane,  Messrs.  Henry  Holt  and 
Co.,  Messrs.  Small,  Maynard,  and  Co.,  Messrs.  Robert  Bon- 
ner's Sons,  Messrs.  Doubleday  and  McClure  Co.,  Messrs. 
The  Macmillan  Co.  Detailed  credit  will  be  given  in  the 
proper  places  for  permission  to  use  the  pieces  printed.  If 
any  selection  has  been  taken  without  securing  permission 
from  the  owners,  the  mistake  has  been  due  to  inadvertence. 

In  conclusion  the  editor  must  thank  many  friends  for 
counsel.  Particularly  must  he  acknowledge  the  welcome 
assistance,  criticism,  and  sympathy  of  his  colleagues,  Miss 
Jane  L.  Noble  and  Miss  Charlotte  N.  Underwood,  and  of 
Director  George  N.  Carman. 

E.  H.  L. 

Chicago,  November  17,  1898. 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 


Preface vn 

General  Introduction i 

CHAPTER  I 

The  Nobility  of  Animals 

Introduction 14 

The  King  of  Denmark's  Ride  .     Caroline  Elizabeth  S.  Norton     .  18 
*  How  they  brought  the  Good 

News  from  Ghent  to  Aix  .     .     Robert  Broivning 20 

Tray Robert  Browning 23 

Helvellyn Sir  Walter  Scott 25 

CHAPTER  II 

The  Heroism  of  War 


Introduction 

The  Private  of  the  Buffs  .     .     .  Sir  Francis  Hastings  Doyle 

The  Charge  of  the  Light  Bri- 
gade    Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson     . 

*  The  Revenge,  a  Ballad  of  the 

Fleet Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson     . 

The  Loss  of  the  Birkenhead    .  Sir  Francis  Hastings  Doyle 

Soldier  and  Sailor  too  (selec- 
tion)     . Rudyard  Kipling     .     .     . 

Midshipman  Lanyon  ....  Theodore  Watts-Dunton   . 

The  Drums  of  the  Fore  and  Aft 

(abridged) Rudyard  Kipling    . 

Incident  of  the  French  Camp    .  Robert  Browning      . 

Herve  Riel Robert  Browning      .     .     . 


27 
34 

36 

33 
45 

47 
48 

49 
81 

83 


XIV 


CONTENTS 


The  Deserter  from  the  Cause  . 
Heather      Ale,      a      Galloway 

Legend  

Adam  of  Gordon 

A  Plantation  Heroine .... 
The  Angels  of  Buena  Vista  .     . 

Decoration 

*  The  Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore 
*On  the  American  Revolution 

(selection) 

♦Concord  Hymn 


Gerald  Massey 89 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson      .     . 
Anonymous  {Folk  ballad) 
George  Cary  Eggleston  .     .     . 
John  Greenleaf  Whittier  .     . 
Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson 
Charles  Wolfe 


90 

93 

96 

98 

103 

104 


William  Pitt,  Earl  of  Chatham  105 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson      .     .     .107 


CHAPTER  III 
The  Heroism  of  Peace 


Introduction 

Hannah  the  Quakeress    .     .     . 

Reconciliation 

The  Confederate  Soldier  after 
the  War 

The  Arsenal  at  Springfield   .     . 

The  Three  Fishers 

A  Sea  Story 

Patroling  Barnegat      .... 

An  Incident  of  the  Fire  at  Ham- 
burgh      

'Ware  Holes 

Enter  Patient 

Operation . 

In  the  Children's  Hospital    .     . 

San  Lorenzo  GiustinianVs 
Mother 

Barclay  of  Ury 

Landing  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers 
in  New  England 

The  Twenty-Second  of  De- 
cember   

*  "A  Man  Must  Live"     .     .     . 

The  Hero 


Ednah  Proctor  Clarke . 
Walt  Whitman  .     .     . 


Henry  Woodfen  Grady     . 
Henry  Wadsivorth  Longfellc 
Charles  Kings  ley      .     .     . 
Emily  H  Hie  key     .     .     . 
Walt  Whitman    .... 


James  Russell  Lowell  . 
A.  Conan  Doyle  .  .  . 
William  Ernest  Henley 
William  Ernest  Henley 
Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


Alice  Meynell .... 
John  Greenleaf  Whittier 

Felicia  Browne  Hemans 

William  Cullen  Bryant 
Charlotte  Perkins  Stetson 
Robert  Nicoll  .... 


109 
117 
120 

121 
123 

125 
126 
127 

128 
130 
132 
133 
134 

139 
140 

145 

146 
147 
148 


CONTENTS  XV 

CHAPTER  IV 

The  Athlete 

PAGE 

Introduction 151 

Swimming    (from    "  The    Two 

Foscari") George  Gordon  Noel,  Lord  Byron  156 

The  Physique  of  a  Wood-cut- 
ter (from  "  The  Toilers  of  the 
Field") Richard  Jefferies 157 

The  Runner Walt  Whitman 159 

The  Football  Player    ....     Edward  Cracroft  Lefroy  .     .     .159 

Childhood  and  Youth,  a  Con- 
trast   Edward  Cracroft  Lefroy  .     .     .160 

The  Great  Winter  (Chap.  XLII 

of  "  Lorna  Doone ")     .     .     .     R.  D.  Blackmore 161 

Driven  beyond  Endurance 
(Chap.  LXX1V  of  "Lorna 
Doone ") R.  D.  Blackmore 166 

My  Bath John  Stuart  Blackie     .     .     .     .176 

*Oh,    Our    Manhood's    Prime 

Vigor  (from  "  Saul  ")  .     .     .     Robert  Browning 1 78 

The  Haunted  Palace   ....     Edgar  Allan  Poe 179 

Dialogue  between  Franklin  and 

the  Gout Benjamin  Franklin      .     .     .     .181 

The  Lyra  Prayer Richard  Jefferies 188 

Sir  Galahad Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson     .     .     .191 

CHAPTER  V 
The  Adventurer 

Introduction 195 

The  Cow-Boy  (abridged)      .     .     John  Antrobus 198 

Sand  of  the  Desert  in  an  Hour- 

Glass Henry  Wadsxvorth  Longfellmv    .  200 

The  Secret  of  the  Sea ....  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  .  202 

The  Voyage  of  Maeldune     .     .  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson     .     .     .  203 

♦Ulysses Alfred,  L^ord  Tennyson     .     .     .211 

A    Meeting    in   the    Heart   of 

Africa  (from  "  How  I  found 

Livingstone") Henry  Morton  Stanley      .     .     .  214 


XVI  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VI 
The  Hearth 


Introduction 


PAGE 
224 


*  The  M  Old,  Old  Song  "...     Charles  Kingsley 229 

Driving  Home  the  Cows  .  .  .  Kate  Putnam  Osgood  ....  230 
There's  Nae   Luck   about   the 

House William  Julius  Mickle{l)   .     .  232 

Mary- Ann's  Child.     ...      William  Barnes 234 

David  and  Absalom    ....     The  Bible 235 

How's  my  Boy? Sydney  D obeli 236 

The  Forsaken  Merman    .     .     .     Matthew  Arnold 238 

The  Toys Coventry  Patmore 243 

An  Episode John  Addington  Symonds      .     .  244 

The  Selling  of  Rhodope  (from 

"Rhodope     and    /Esop,    an 

Imaginary  Conversation ")     .  Walter  Savage  Landor     .     .     .  245 

The  Merry  Lark Charles  Kingsley 252 

Two  Sons Robert  Buchanan 253 

Sohrab  and  Rustum,  an  Episode     Matthew  Arnold 254 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  Morning  Landscape 

Introduction 283 

Sympathy Thomas  Ashe 293 

Changed  Voices William  Watson 294 

*  Pippa  Passes Robert  Browning 295 

March William  Wordsworth  ....  295 

*  I  wandered  Lonely  as  a  Cloud  William  Wordsworth  ....  296 

The  Yellow  Violet William  Cullen  Bryant   .     .     .  297 

The  Rhodora Ralph  Waldo  Emerson      .     .     .  298 

Warble  for  Lilac -Time     .     .     .      Walt  Whitman 299 

The  Crow William  Canton 300 

*  Hark,  Hark,  the  Lark  .     .     .      William  Shakspere 301 

The  Lattice  at  Sunrise      .     .     .  Charles  Tennyson-  Turner    .     .  302 

Dawn  and  Dark Norman  Gale 302 

Sunrise  on  the  Hills    ....  Henry  Wads%vorth  Longfellow    .  303 


CONTENTS 


XV11 


*My  Heart  Leaps  up  when  I 
Behold 

Twas  One  of  the  Charmed 
Days  (from  "  Voluntaries  ")  . 

June 

*  To  the  Dandelion     .... 

The  Humble-Bee 

The  Humming-Bird     .... 

*  The  Eagle,  a  Fragment      .     . 
The  Bird  (from  "  The  Queen  of 

the  Air") 

Song  of  the  Chattahoochee  .     . 

The  Railway  Train 

The  Sea 

The  Shell 

*  Scythe  Song 

*  Sweet  Day,  so  Cool  .... 
The  Death  of  the  Flowers    .    . 

November .     . 

The  Snow-Storm 

Winter  Harvests 


William  Wordsworth  ....  304 


Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 
William  Cullen  Bryant 
James  Russell  Lowell  . 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 
Emily  Dickinson  .  . 
Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


John  Ruskin  .... 
Sidney  Lanier  .  .  . 
Emily  Dickinson  .  . 
Barry  Cornwall .  .  . 
Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 
Andrew  Lang .... 
George  Herbert  .  .  . 
William  Cullen  Bryant 
William  Cullen  Bryant 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 
Arthur  Christopher  Benson 


305 
305 
307 
309 
3" 
312 

312 
313 
315 
3i6 

317 
318 
319 
320 
321 
322 
323 


CHAPTER  VIII 
The  Gentleman 


Introduction  ...... 

Of  Vulgarity  (Chap.  VII  of 
"Modern  Painters,"  Vol.  V, 
Part  IX) 

The  Young  Montagu  (from 
"The  Praise  of  Chimney- 
Sweepers")     

Tact ' 

Two  Gentlemen  at  Petersburg  . 

The  Gentleman  (from  "  The 
Idea  of  a  University")    .     . 

A  Fop 

A  Breach  of  Etiquette      .     .     . 


325 


John  Ruskin 329 


Charles  Lamb 343 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson      .     .     .  345 
George  Cary  Eggleston       .     .     .  346 

John  Henry,  Cardinal  Newman  349 

William  Shakspere 351 

George  Cary  Eggleston .     .     .     -353 


XV111  CONTENTS 


Remarks  concerning  the  Sav- 
ages of  North  America      .     .  Benjamin  Franklin     ....  355 

Omar  and  the  Persian ....     Sarah  Williams 362 

The  Octopus  of  the  Golden  Isles  Theodore  Watts-Dunton   .     .     .  364 

The  Churl  in  Spirit  (poem  cxi 

from  In  Memoriam)    .     .     .  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson     .     .     .  365 

The  End  of  the  Play  (abridged)  William  Makepeace  Thackeray    366 


CHAPTER  IX 

Wit  and  Humor 

Introduction 370 

Lamb's  Salt  Dips Walter  J  err  old 376 

Mrs.    Malaprop   on    Education 

for  Girls Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan  .     .  378 

When  Moonlike  ore  the  Hazure 

Seas William  Makepeace   'Thackeray  378 

Lapsus  Calami James  Kenneth  Stephen    .     .     .379 

He  is  an  Englishman  ....  William  Schwenk  Gilbert     .     .  380 

The  Didactic  Poem      ....     Richard  Garnett 380 

The  Height  of  the  Ridiculous  .  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes     .     .     .381 

The  Productions  of  Ceylon  .     .     Sydney  Smith 382 

*The  Last  Leaf Oliver  Wendell  Holmes     .     .     .384 


CHAPTER  X 
The  Far  Goal 

Introduction 386 

My   Chateaux    (selection   from 

"Prueandl") George  William  Curtis     .     .     .391 

One  Grand,  Sweet  Song  .     .     .     Charles  Kingsley 397 

Sweet  is  the  Rose Edmund  Spenser 397 

Gaspar  Becerra Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow    .  398 

*  Will Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson     .     .     .  399 

Habit     (from    "  Principles     of 

Psychology") William  James 400 


CONTENTS  XIX 

PAGE 

Forbearance Ralph  Waldo  Emerson      .     .  .  401 

*  Say  not,  the  Struggle  naught 

Availeth Arthur  Hugh  C lough    .     .     .  .401 

The  Ladder  of  Saint  Augustine     Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  .  402 

To  a  Water-Fowl William  Cullen  Bryant   .     .  .  404 


Chronological  Table 406 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO   THE 
STUDY  OF   LITERATURE 

INTRODUCTION 

i.  Literature  is,  etymologically,  something  written; 
litera  is  the  Latin  from  which  letter  is  derived.  Yet  it  was 
late  in  the  world's  history  that  songs  and  stories  were 
actually  written  down.  Homer's  poetry  was  the  better  for 
being  tested  a  thousand  times  by  audiences  before  any  of 
the  reciters  of  it  (rhapsodes)  thought  of  writing  it  out. 
In  the  dawn  of  the  world  there  was  only  oral  literature. 
To  this  day,  old  ballads,  like  Adam  of  Gordon  (page 
93),  are  handed  down  by  Scotch  women  who  can  neither 
read  nor  write.  The  tales  of  Uncle  Remus  were  literature 
even  before  Mr.  Joel  Chandler  Harris  conceived  the  ad- 
mirable notion  of  giving  literary  form  to  what  he  had 
heard  from  the  lips  of  illiterate  negroes. 

2.  The  songs  and  stories  which  we  heard  as  children  were 
literature,  but  we  were  probably  unaware  of  the  fact.  In 
childhood  we  enjoy  whatever  appeals  to  us,  but  do  not 
ask  ourselves  its  scientific  name,  or  why  we  like  it.  Nor 
are  such  questions  vital.  It  is  surely  more  important  to 
enjoy  a  book  than  to  know  by  what  tricks  the  author 
makes  us  enjoy  it.  If  no  man  ate  his  dinner  till  he 
understood  why  he  liked  it,  the  world  would  be  a  grave- 
yard in  a  month.  Yet  in  studying  literature  there  are 
certain  principles  of  appreciation  which  may  help  us  in 


2  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

getting  the  full  flavor  of  what  we  read.  First,  then,  let 
us  ask  ourselves  what  literature  is. 

3.  Evidently  such  a  question  is  not  to  be  answered  in  a 
breath;  yet  we  probably  agree  that  literature  is  an  art,  — 
whatever  that  means.  It  is  allied  to  painting,  sculpture, 
and  music.  These  are  sometimes  called  the  fine  arts,  to 
distinguish  them  from  practical  arts  like  cooking  and 
architecture.  Perhaps  a  better  distinction  would  be  that 
between  higher  arts  and  lower.  Cooking  is  a  lower  art,  — 
lower  than  it  might  be  if  cooks  knew  hygiene.  Sculpture 
is  a  higher  art,  yet  not  unpractical;  statues  were  often 
compelled  by  the  Greeks  to  support  roofs.  Music  is  a 
useful  art  when  it  nerves  soldiers  for  a  righteous  fight,  or 
quiets  a  mob,  or  refines  the  vulgar,  or  puts  a  miser  in  a 
mood  to  think  of  eternity.  Music  is  far  from  useful  when 
it  throws  people  into  hysterical  raptures  and  unstrings  the 
will.  Architecture  is  a  useful  art,  but  architecture  would 
probably  be  more  useful  if  it  considered  certain  laws  of 
beauty;  if  built  of  poor  material  and  ornamented  with  tin 
cornices,  a  house  is  neither  honest,  useful,  nor  beautiful. 

4.  We  must  now  define  more  closely  what  is  meant  by 
art,  as  applied  to  painting,  sculpture,  music,  and  litera- 
ture. What  is  the  chief  end  that  these  arts  try  to  accom- 
plish? The  great  artist  aims  at  something  better  than 
tempting  dishes  and  water-tight  houses.  Consider  a  line 
or  two  of  real  poetry :  — 

Golden  lads  and  girls  all  must, 

As  chimney-sweepers,  come  to  dust. 

What  effect  is  Shakspere  trying  to  produce  upon  us? 
Clearly  he  is  endeavoring  to  convey  to  us  one  of  his  per- 
sonal feelings,  or  rather  several  of  them.  He  has  been 
thinking  about  one  of  his  characters,  a  golden-haired 
woman,  who,  disguised  as  a  boy,  is  lying  unconscious  in 


INTRODUCTION  3 

the  forest.  The  shepherds  call  her  dead,  and  sing  a  dirge 
over  her.  Shakspere  is  composing  that  song.  As  he 
looks  with  the  shepherds  upon  poor  Fidele,1  he  remembers 
that  not  all  children  are  fair  and  white.  The  chimney 
sweepers,  poor  little  imps,  are  both  amusing  and  pitiful  in 
their  grime  and  soot.  Suddenly  it  sadly  flashes  upon  him, 
remembering  his  own  dead  child,  that,  golden-haired  or 
grimy,  all  the  children  must  one  day  turn  to  dust.  Into 
his  song  he  pours  all  this  mixture  of  feeling  —  admiration, 
humor,  pity,  and  ,goef.  On  reading,  we  suspect  immedi- 
ately that  transmission  of  feeling  is  one  chief  function  of 
the  higher  arts.  We  recall  lines  that  pretended  to  be 
poetry,  but  that  were  prosy,  because  cold  and  unfeeling. 
To  show  that  metre  does  not  make  poetry,  Dr.  Samuel 
Johnson  improvised  these  verses :  — 

I  put  my  hat  upon  my  head 
And  walked  into  the  strand; 
And  there  I  saw  another  man 
Whose  hat  was  in  his  hand. 

Here  no  emotion  is  conveyed  —  unless  it  be  unintentional 
humor.  . .  .  ^_ 

5.  Let  us  see  if  the  transmission  of  feeling  is  character- 
istic of  the  other  fine  arts.  Certainly  it  is  of  music. 
Music  makes  us  laugh,  or  weep,  or  quicken  step.  Some- 
thing similar  is  true  of  painting.  Before  the  Sistine  Ma- 
donna the  peasants  shed  tears,  or  stand  in  breathless  awe. 
Sculpture,  too,  moves  the  feelings,  though  fewer  than  are 
reached  through  pictures.  The  statue  of  a  Greek  god  awakes 
our  admiration  for  the  human  form,  and  our  appreciation 
of  majestic  repose.  It  rousee,  too,  a  sense  of  awe,  for  it 
stands  looking  out  on  life  to-day  with  the  same  divine 
steadiness  it  has  shown  for  a  thousand  years.  Evidently  all 
artists  aim  at  the  heart.     They  may  stir  the  merest  quiver 

1  Three  syllables,  accent  on  the  second. 


2  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

getting  the  full  flavor  of  what  we  read.  First,  then,  let 
us  ask  ourselves  what  literature  is. 

3.  Evidently  such  a  question  is  not  to  be  answered  in  a 
breath;  yet  we  probably  agree  that  literature  is  an  art,  — 
whatever  that  means.  It  is  allied  to  painting,  sculpture, 
and  music.  These  are  sometimes  called  the  fine  arts,  to 
distinguish  them  from  practical  arts  like  cooking  and 
architecture.  Perhaps  a  better  distinction  would  be  that 
between  higher  arts  and  lower.  Cooking  is  a  lower  art,  — 
lower  than  it  might  be  if  cooks  knew  hygiene.  Sculpture 
is  a  higher  art,  yet  not  unpractical;  statues  were  often 
compelled  by  the  Greeks  to  support  roofs.  Music  is  a 
useful  art  when  it  nerves  soldiers  for  a  righteous  fight,  or 
quiets  a  mob,  or  refines  the  vulgar,  or  puts  a  miser  in  a 
mood  to  think  of  eternity.  Music  is  far  from  useful  when 
it  throws  people  into  hysterical  raptures  and  unstrings  the 
will.  Architecture  is  a  useful  art,  but  architecture  would 
probably  be  more  useful  if  it  considered  certain  laws  of 
beauty;  if  built  of  poor  material  and  ornamented  with  tin 
cornices,  a  house  is  neither  honest,  useful,  nor  beautiful. 

4.  We  must  now  define  more  closely  what  is  meant  by 
art,  as  applied  to  painting,  sculpture,  music,  and  litera- 
ture. What  is  the  chief  end  that  these  arts  try  to  accom- 
plish? The  great  artist  aims  at  something  better  than 
tempting  dishes  and  water-tight  houses.  Consider  a  line 
or  two  of  real  poetry :  — 

Golden  lads  and  girls  all  must, 

As  chimney-sweepers,  come  to  dust. 

What  effect  is  Shakspere  trying  to  produce  upon  us? 
Clearly  he  is  endeavoring  to  convey  to  us  one  of  his  per- 
sonal feelings,  or  rather  several  of  them.  He  has  been 
thinking  about  one  of  his  characters,  a  golden-haired 
woman,  who,  disguised  as  a  boy,  is  lying  unconscious  in 


INTRODUCTION  3 

the  forest.  The  shepherds  call  her  dead,  and  sing  a  dirge 
over  her.  Shakspere  is  composing  that  song.  As  he 
looks  with  the  shepherds  upon  poor  Fidele,1  he  remembers 
that  not  all  children  are  fair  and  white.  The  chimney 
sweepers,  poor  little  imps,  are  both  amusing  and  pitiful  in 
their  grime  and  soot.  Suddenly  it  sadly  flashes  upon  him, 
remembering  his  own  dead  child,  that,  golden-haired  or 
grimy,  all  the  children  must  one  day  turn  to  dust.  Into 
his  song  he  pours  all  this  mixture  of  feeling  —  admiration, 
humor,  pity,  and  .grjef.  On  reading,  we  suspect  immedi- 
ately that  transmission  of  feeling  is  one  chief  function  of 
the  higher  arts.  We  recall  lines  that  pretended  to  be 
poetry,  but  that  were  prosy,  because  cold  and  unfeeling. 
To  show  that  metre  does  not  make  poetry,  Dr.  Samuel 
Johnson  improvised  these  verses :  — 

I  put  my  hat  upon  my  head 
And  walked  into  the  strand; 
And  there  I  saw  another  man 
Whose  hat  was  in  his  hand. 

Here  no  emotion  is  conveyed  —  unless  it  be  unintentional 
humor.  ^^ 

5.  Let  us  see  if  the  transmission  of  feeling  is  character- 
istic of  the  other  fine  arts.  Certainly  it  is  of  music. 
Music  makes  us  laugh,  or  weep,  or  quicken  step.  Some- 
thing similar  is  true  of  painting.  Before  the  Sistine  Ma- 
donna the  peasants  shed  tears,  or  stand  in  breathless  awe. 
Sculpture,  too,  moves  the  feelings,  though  fewer  than  are 
reached  through  pictures.  The  statue  of  a  Greek  god  awakes 
our  admiration  for  the  human  form,  and  our  appreciation 
of  majestic  repose.  It  rouses,  too,  a  sense  of  awe,  for  it 
stands  looking  out  on  life  to-day  with  the  same  divine 
steadiness  it  has  shown  for  a  thousand  years.  Evidently  all 
artists  aim  at  the  heart.     They  may  stir  the  merest  quiver 

1  Three  syllables,  accent  on  the  second. 


4  STUDY   OF  LITERATURE 

of  pleasure,  regret,  hope;  or  they  may  arouse  the  fiercest 
throbbings  of  joy,  remorse,  ambition. 

6.  Of  course,  with  all  these  emotions  thought  is  mingled, 
especially  with  those  aroused  by  literature.  Whereas  musk 
is  the  natural  language  of  the  heart,  words  are  the  natural 
language  of  the  head.  If  the  orchestra  plays  fear,  you  feel 
it  at  once;  if  the  poet  writes  "fear,"  the  word  does  not 
immediately  more  you;  it  is  merely  the  idea  of  fear.  Not 
until  you  fall  to  thinking  on  the  subject,  calling  up  the 
pictures  of  things  that  you  fear,  does  literature  get  you  to 
feel  it.  Literature  therefore  gives  a  calmer,  a  more 
thoughtful  pleasure,  and  often  a  healthier  pleasure,  than 
does  music.  Literature  is  a  sort  of  finer  thinking  about 
life, — the  thinking  that  comes  more  from  the  heart  than 
from  the  head.  The  poets  tell  us  their  wisest  and  tender- 
est  thoughts  about  life. 

7.  It  may  seem  unfortunate  that  the  arts  put  so  much 
weight  on  emotion;  but  only  bad  art  makes  people  hysteri- 
cal, or  sentimental,  or  visionary.  Good  art,  at  least  good 
art  in  reasonable  quantity,  never  does  that,  for  it  does 
not  forget  to  express  all  the  stronger  emotions  that  are 
noble,  and  these  are  the  sworn  enemies  of  the  hysterical. 
Fine  natures  are  bundles  of  feeling,  though  they  seem 
outwardly  calm.  The  coarse  man  does  not  show  grief, 
because  he  does  not  feel  it;  the  fine  man  feels  it,  but  mas- 
ters it  with  another  emotion,  —  pride,  faith,  courage.  Our 
sensibilities  are  numberless,  and  very  few  of  them  can  re- 
ceive expression;  yet  they  are  the  most  important  part  of 
us.  Children  do  not  think  of  their  father  as  a  walking  vol- 
ume, or  a  walking  industry,  though  he  may  have  written 
a  profound  book  or  built  up  a  great  business.  They  think 
of  him  as  a  person  made  chiefly  of  humor,  patience,  sym- 
pathy, and  love.  His  learning  is  a  mere  adjunct  to  him- 
self. 


INTRODUCTION 


5 


8.  Obviously,  our  possibilities  of  noble  feeling  need  de- 
velopment.    Not  to  have  experienced  all  the  legitimate 
sensations  of  youth,   beginning  with  the  love  of  fun,  the 
love  of  adventure,  and  the  love  of  success,  is  to  be  unedu- 
cated.    Literature  is  a  recognized  means  of  widening  our 
range  of  feelings.     How  is  a  boy  to  know  the  hopes  and  J 
fears  of  shipwreck  but  from  Crusoe  and  Jim  Hawkins?! 
How  is  he  to  imagine  the  sensations  of  journeying  to  the 
moon,  save  by  the  help  of  Verne?     Ordinary  life  will  not 
invite  us  to  dinner  with  the  queen,  or  to  go  on  secret  mes- 
sages after  her  diamonds,  or  to  fight  in  armor,  or  to  see 
ghosts,  or  to  descend  into  the   inferno.     If  we  wish  to 
imagine  these  experiences,  we  must  turn  to  literature.     If 
we  are  not  to  be  content  with  drudgery,  we  must  go  to/ 
books  for  means  of  multiplying  our  imaginative  pleasures. ' 
I  say  "  imaginative  "  pleasures  distinctly,  not  meaning  the 
pleasures  of  information.     The  novel  or  poem  that  has  no 
object  except  the  sugaring  over  of  useful  information  is 
usually  poor  stuff.  ^^-v^^^-aL 

9.  It  is  not  pretended  that  every  emotion  transmitted 
by  art  is  desirable.  It  would  be  a  great  mistake  to  sup- 
pose that  every  beautiful  style  embodies  noble  feeling.  The 
photographer  can  use  a  lense  that  heightens  the  brutish  fore- 
head. So  the  novelist  can  disguise  the  bestial  qualities  of! 
hatred,  cruelty,  cowardice,  and  lust,  if  he  mixes  a  little 
courtesy  with  the  hatred,  a  little  wit  with  the  cruelty,  a  little 
policy  with  the  cowardice,  a  little  nonsense  about  "wild 
oats  "  with  the  lust. 

10.  Have,  then,  these  evil  qualities  no  place  in  litera- 
ture? Yes;  but  only  in  the  hands  of  a  few  masters. 
Shakspere  and  Hawthorne  can  show  the  horror  of  them; 
most  writers  merely  succeed  in  presenting  degrading  pic- 
tures. The  virus  of  hydrophobia  will  not  more  surely  cause 
its  victim  to  act  like  a  dog,  than  will  the  memory  of  beauti- 


6  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

ful    images  expressing  bestial  feelings  degrade  him  who 
cherishes  them. 

n.  Each  time  of  life  has  its  peculiar  emotions.  Old  age 
has  its  pleasures  of  memory,  its  quiet  sadness  of  sorrows 
dulled  by  time,  and  its  serene  hope  of  the  future  life. 
Middle  age  has  its  anxiety  for  the  welfare  of  the  young 
generation.  Young  manhood  has  its  ambition,  its  senti- 
ment, and  its  passion  of  love. 

12.  Perhaps  we  may  say  that  the  feelings  normal  to  four- 
teen and  fifteen  are  as  follows:  a  wholesome  sense  of  fun; 
a  love  of  nature  in  her  fresh  and  woodsy  moods;  courage, 
endurance,  fidelity,  loyalty;  a  reasonable  sense  of  bodily 
vigor;  love  of  adventure;  a  desire  for  practical  success; 
aspiration,  hope,  perseverance,  faith;  a  strong  love  of  one's 
parents  and  home,  if  one  is  not  treated  like  a  child;  ad- 
miration for  courtesy,  mercy,  and  heroism.  All  this  does 
not  mean  that  the  youth  is  a  saint  with  a  formidable  list  of 
virtues.  It  does  mean  that  he  admires  in  others  any  mani- 
festation of  these  emotions,  many  of  which  are  among  the 
noblest  that  human  nature  can  feel;  and  that  he  is  entirely 
capable  of  developing  many  of  them  in  himself. 

13.  The  poems  and  stories  of  this  volume  have  been 
selected  because  they  exhibit  these  feelings  as  they  have 
appeared  in  actual  men,  or  in  personages  of  the  imagina- 
tion. Note  that  artistic  exhibition  is  very  different  from 
preaching  a  moral.  One  can  draw  a  moral  from  anything 
in  this  world,  if  one  has  the  habit.  Most  of  us  are  fortu- 
nately able  to  see  the  robin  in  the  sunrise  without  reflecting 

that  the  early  bird  catches  the  worm.  Perfect  poetry,  like 
nature,  never  preaches.  If  all  the  poetry  in  this  book  were 
perfect,  there  would  not  be  a  single  moral,  directly  stated, 
in  it.  Nearly  every  piece  included  has  been  recommended 
by  some  hundreds  of  students  of  the  age  for  which  it  is 
here  intended.    These  did  their  best  to  keep  out  everything 


INTR  OD  UC  TION  y 

unpleasantly  didactic.  They  regret  that  they  could  not  find 
more  perfect  expressions  of  some  of  the  emotions,  for  ex- 
ample, those  of  football.  The  search  convinced  them  that 
great  poets  must  find  it  very  hard  to  remember  their  boy- 
hood. It  is  comparatively  easy  to  remember  one's  thoughts, 
but  it  is  hard,  even  for  the  poet,  who  recalls  his  emotions 
better  than  do  other  people,  to  remember  feelings  long 
since  dead.  ^/i^^^yiA     — 

14.  We  have  now  seen  that  literature  transmits  thought- 
ful emotions.  It  does  this  not  by  stone,  or  pigment,  or 
musical  sounds,  but  by  words.  Yet  how.  by  words  ?  Sup- 
pose that  a  dry  philosopher  one  day  feels  the  emotion  of 
sadness  at  the  thought  that  all  things  must  perish.  An 
emotion  of  any  sort  is  so  rare  in  him  that  he  fancies  his 
dreamy  youth  coming  back,  and  sits  down  to  express  in 
poetry  his  sweet  melancholy.     He  writes :  — 

Into  primordial  atoms,  we  discern, 

All  sentient  beings,  though  diverse,  return. 

Having  proceeded  at  this  rate  for  a' hundred  lines,  he 
hands  the  fresh  manuscript  to  his  boy.  Tom  reads  the 
lines  respectfully,  and  declares  them  fine;  but  his  wise  old 
father  sees  that  they  touch  no  feeling  whatever  in  Tom,  ex- 
cept his  pride  at  being  consulted.  Of  course  they  have  not. 
Who  can  weep  over  atoms? 

15.  Now  suppose  Master  Will  Shakspere  sitting  at 
New  Place,  famous  and  lonely;  famous  because  the  queen 
and  all  her  people  like  his  plays;  lonely,  too,  because 
remembering  his  golden-haired  boy  who  lies  in  the 
churchyard  by  the  river.  How  white  that  face  was 
beneath  the  golden  hair!  not  like  those  of  the  chimney- 
sweeps the  poet  had  seen  in  London.  Shakspere  feels  a 
touch  of  humor  at  the  memory  of  their  impish  black,  and 
a  touch  of  pity  for  their  lives.     Ah!  but  it  will  soon  be 


8  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

with  them  as  it  is  with  the  golden  head  in  the  churchyard. 
The  great  man  picks  up  his  pen  and  goes  on  with  the 
dirge  he  is  writing,  to  be  spoken  in  his  new  play  of 
"Cymbeline":  — 

Golden  lads  and  girls  all  must, 

As  chimney-sweepers,  come  to  dust,  — 

and  here,  I  think,  he  must  have  laid  the  pen  down  again 
and  gone  out  into  the  green  fields;  for  the  poet  can  write 
well  of  his  emotions  when  he  remembers  them  dimly,  but 
not  when  they  are  choking  him  again.  How  did  Shak- 
spere,  unconsciously  enough,  produce,  in  those  who  heard 
these  two  lines  next  month  at  the  theatre,  the  mingled 
emotions  of  humor,  pity,  and  sorrow?  Merely  by  trans- 
ferring his  own  emotion  through  images.  He  makes  us 
see  the  golden  hair,  the  white  skin,  the  impish  black  faces, 
and,  lastly,  the  coffined  dust  in  the  churchyard. 

1 6.  Let  us  take  another  example.  Suppose  we  wish  to 
convey  a  sense  of  the  loneliness  of  a  deserted  house.  If 
we  write,  "There  were  none  of  the  accustomed  sounds  of 
busy  life,  and  so  all  the  minor  noises  of  the  deserted 
place  were  plainly  audible,"  our  sentence  arouses  no  emo- 
tion. But  when  Tennyson  treats  the  same  subject,  he  calls 
up  the  sound-images,  and  produces  at  once  the  desired 
impression :  — 

All  day  within  the  dreamy  house, 
The  doors  upon  their  hinges  creak'd; 

The  blue  fly  sung  in  the  pane  ;  the  mouse 
Behind  the  mouldering  wainscot  shriek'd. 

17.  Sound-images  and  sight-images  are  preferred  by  the 
arts,  but  images  of  odor,  touch,  motion,  muscular  contrac- 
tion, etc.,  are  also  employed.  Images  of  odor  are  some- 
times very  effective  in  arousing  forgotten  feelings  that  once 
happened  to  be  associated  with  the  given  odor.     Thus,  the 


INTRODUCTION  g 

poet  Owen  Meredith  makes  the  scent  of  a  jasmine  flower 
recall  to  a  man  his  dead  sweetheart :  — 

Oh,  the  faint,  sweet  smell  of  that  jasmine  flower ! 
It  made  me  start,  and  it  made  me  cold. 

1 8.  If  a  poet  is  really  great,  his  work  is  a  tissue  of 
images,  though  free  from  over-decoration.  They  are  not 
merely  memories  of  actual  sights  and  sounds,  filling  his 
mind  like  tiny  landscapes  in  a  camera;  some  are  new  com- 
binations. He  sees  the  sky,  and  is  about  to  call  it  "  the 
starry  sky,"  when  it  suggests  to  him  a  floor  inlaid  with  bits 
of  gold.  Thus  he  enriches  the  reader  with  several  impres- 
sions instead  of  one.  The  resemblances  noted  by  the  poet 
between  different  images  give  rise  to  "figures."  .  Gazing 
upon  the  waves  and  listening  to  them,  the  poet  sees  points 
of  resemblance  to  various  other  things:  dancing  children; 
galloping  horses;  a  mass  of  beautiful  hair;  tears;  a  march- 
ing army;  a  turbulent  mob;  a  symphony;  laughing  or 
moaning  human  voices;  molten  silver,  or  emerald,  or  tur- 
quoise (things  that  he  never  saw,  but  that  he  understood 
by  combining  various  images).  When  he  writes  of  the 
"dancing  waves,"  or  the  "horses  of  Neptune,"  or  the 
"  waves  of  golden  hair,"  or  the  "emerald  depths,"  he 
is  making  "figures."1  Figures,  then,  are  compounds  of 
images,  and  are  made  by  the  rare  gift  of  seeing  a  resem- 
blance where  most  persons  fail  to  see  it.  We  may  call 
them  a  kind  of  invention. 

19.  Our  definition  has  now  advanced  thus  far:  Litera- 
ture is  an  art  which  transmits  thougbnnl  ^motion  by  images 
and  inventions  embodied  in  words.     The  word  invention 

1  The  two  most  important  figures  are  metaphor  and  simile.  "  The  wave 
is  like  a  dancer  "  is  simile,  that  is,  the  explicit  statement  of  a  resemblance 
between  two  things  unlike  in  most  respects.  "  The  wave  dances  "  and  "  the 
dancing  wave  "  are  metaphors.  Metaphor  identifies  the  two  things  com- 
pared. 


IO  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

ought  to  include  more  than  figures  of  speech.  If  the  artist 
can  invent  these,  why  may  he  not  invent  whole  landscapes  ? 
The  painter  can  take  his  sketches  of  different  places,  his 
memories  of  lights  and  lines,  and  by  combining  and  reject- 
ing can  create  a  new  landscape.  So  can  the  poet.  Dreams 
sometimes  permit  ordinary  persons  to  do  the  same  thing, 
though  usually  there  is  not  much  reason  in  dream  pictures. 
By  observing  many  persons,  the  novelist  is  able  to  create 
a  character  like  them  all,  yet  different  from  any  one  of  them. 
He  wishes  to  draw  a  commercial  traveller,  let  us  say.  He 
jots  down  notes  of  all  the  "drummers"  he  meets;  by  and 
by  he  compares  notes  and  constructs  a  "type."  What 
would  be  the  details  of  dress  and  manner  common  to  most 
"  drummers  "  ? 

20.  This  making  of  composite  photographs  by  the  in- 
ventive imagination  is  not  hard  to  understand  when  an 
imaginary  landscape  is  the  product.  It  is  more  difficult  to 
grasp  when  a  real  person,  not  merely  a  type,  seems  to  be 
created  outright.  The  novelist  sets  his  memory  whirling, 
full  of  memories  of  a  hundred  men,  and  suddenly  he  hands 
you  out  a  Crusoe  or  a  Hamlet.  The  new  character  seems 
truer  to  life  than  one's  own  neighbors.  Jim  Hawkins  never 
lived;  nor  Friday,  nor  Leatherstocking,  nor  Ivanhoe,  nor 
Shylock;  yet  each  is  a  strangely  real  unity,  — entirely  alive 
and  responsible  for  his  acts.  It  would  puzzle  Shakspere 
himself  to  say  how  his  character  Lear  came  to  be.  We 
can  only  guess  that  the  same  inventive  principle  which 
produces  figures  of  speech  and  composite  landscapes  is 
capable  of  creating  Cordelias  and  Lears.  Somehow  that 
rare  gift  of  seeing  resemblances  must  have  done  the 
work.  Newton,  says  some  one,  was  the  first  man  to  see 
that  the  earth  is  like  an  apple  falling  toward  the  sun. 
Shakspere  was  the  first  to  see,  in  supremely  beautiful  and 
touching  images,  that  he  who  is  heartlessly  self-willed  is 


INTR  OD  UCTION  T  j 

very  like  a  madman.  Consequently,  Shakspere  was  the 
first  and  only  man  who  could  write  the  tragedy  of  Lear. 

21.  Having  assured  ourselves  that  literature  is  an  art 
which  transmits  thoughtful  emotion  by  language  embodying 
images  and  inventions,  we  must  ask,  Should  the  images  and 
the  language  be  pleasing?  We  did  not  ask  that  question 
about  emotion.  We  agreed  that  art  may  express  any  emo- 
tion, pleasant  or  not.  We  probably  agree  that  we  desire 
just  as  much  beauty  of  style  as  the  subject  will  permit.  We 
know  that,  when  Macbeth  comes  out  from  King  Duncan's 
chamber,  he  comes  a  murderer;  yet  we  like  the  excited 
poetic  language  in  which  he  says :  — 

Here  lay  Duncan, 
His  silver  skin  laced  with  his  golden  blood. 

In  a  later  act,  Lady  Macbeth,  walking  in  her  sleep,  tries 
to  wash  the  foul  stains  of  blood  from  her  hands.  This 
scene  rouses  an  extremely  unpleasant  feeling,  but  it  is  re- 
lieved by  the  beauty  of  Lady  Macbeth' s  words:  — 

Here's  the  smell  of  the  blood  still:  all  the  perfumes  of  Arabia  will 
not  sweeten  this  little  hand. 

Here  Shakspere  has  felt  that  he  cannot  give  us  only 
pleasant  images,  for  he  is  portraying  the  mind  of  a  mur- 
deress. He  suggests  the  smell  of  blood,  but  tries  to  relieve 
it  with  the  odors  of  Araby  the  blest. 

22.  In  like  manner,  the  very  language  of  literature 
should  sound  as  sweet  as  the  emotion  to  be  conveyed  will 
permit.  Without  reference  to  what  it  means,  it  should 
itself  be  pleasant.  A  word  like  mellow,  or  golden,  or 
shadowy,  is  more  agreeable  than  one  like  smash,  recognize, 
or  muggy.  The  first  examples  are  called  euphonious,  or 
well-sounding  words;  the  second  are  called  cacophonous, 
or  ill-sounding.  Euphonious  is  itself  rather  a  pleasant 
word;  cacophonous  is  as  harsh  as  the  quality  it  stands  for. 


!  2  STUDY  OF  LITER  A  7 '  URE 

Pick  out  the  euphonious  and  the  cacophonous  words  in  the 
following  list;  never  mind  the  meaning:  c ragged,  perfidi- 
ous, hesperides,  lovely,  marble,  celestial,  glutted,  cinnamon, 
ambrosia,  lucent,  argosies,  Fez,  manna,  immemorial,  lita- 
nies, silver,  musquash,  grate,  martlet,  tintinnabulation, 
croaks,  billowy,  Karshish,  Felippa,  Hakkadosh,  delicate, 
acoustics,  Magdeburg,  dulcimer. 

23.  Pick  out  the  euphonious  and  the  cacophonous  com- 
binations in  the  following  list :  his  is  ;  as  is  the  case  ;  owns 
us  as  her  sons ;  murmur  of  doves  in  immemorial  elms  ; 
Dirck galloped ;  showery  rain;  vesper  chime ;  songless  lute ; 
lute  unswept;  by  the  mirage  is  lifted;  closing  in  slumbers  the 
while ;  stately  pleasure  dome ;  white,  white  violet;  silence 
in  the  atmosphere ;  quietly  rested;  drums  and  tramplings ; 
molten,  golden  notes  ;  the  rust  within  their  throats. 

24.  From  such  a  phrase  as  "  myriad-starred  mignonette, " 
there  is  another  pleasure  to  be  had  besides  the  presence  of 
delicate  vowels  and  the  absence  of  harsh  consonants.  The 
phrase  goes  with  a  tripping  rhythm,  a  lilt.  It  has  four  ac- 
cents: "my'riad  star'redmign'onette'."  Rhythm  is  a  pleas- 
ing thing  to  the  human  animal.  If  one  leg  had  no  chance 
to  rest  while  the  other  took  the  step,  walking  would  be  as 
hard  as  convict  labor.  We  are  set  to  rhythm  even  in  our 
heart-beats  and  our  breathing.  Now,  speech  depends  on 
breath;  and  since  breath  is  rhythmical,  speech  is  rhythmical. 
Curiously  enough,  the  more  interested  a  speaker  becomes  in 
his  subject  the  more  rhythmical  he  becomes  in  speech. 
Emotion  seems  to  express  itself  so,  even  in  savage  man. 

25.  The  writer  too  finds  rhythm  an  aid  to  the  expression 
of  feeling.  With  almost  every  breath  he  regularly  pauses, 
thus  giving  us  the  line,  or  verse.1     And  he  beats  out  the 

1  Verse  properly  means  not  stanza,  but  line.  Note  the  force  of  the 
derivation  from  Latin  vertere,  "  to  turn,"  while  prose  is  from  Latin 
prorsus,  "straight  on." 


INTRODUCTION 


13 


line  into  metre,  that  is,  into  a  definite  number  of  feet, 
each  consisting  of  one  accented  and  one  or  more  un- 
accented syllables.  A  trochaic  foot,  or  trochee,  consists 
of  an  accent  followed  by  a  rest,  thus :  lovely.  If  another 
unaccented  syllable  is  added,  we  have  a  dactyl,  thus: 
merrily.  If,  now,  the  rest  precedes  the  accent,  we  get  an 
iambus,  thus  :  above ;  and  if  two  unaccented  syllables 
precede,  the  result  is  an  anapest,  thus  :  indiscreet.  In 
English  poetry  not  every  line  is  all  composed  of  one  kind 
of  foot,  but  there  is  in  every  poem  a  predominant  foot. 
According  to  this  we  name  the  metre  trochaic,  iambic, 
dactyllic,  or  anapestic.  According  to  the  number  of 
accents  in  the  line  —  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  or  seven 
—  we  call  the  metre  dimeter,  trimeter,  tetrameter,  pen- 
tameter, hexameter,  or  heptameter.  We  shall  find  that 
each  metre  has  its  value;  for  example,  iambic  trimeter  is 
a  very  rapid  metre,  while  trochaic  heptameter  is  a  very 
slow  one. 

26.  Our  definition  is  now  fairly  complete.  Literature 
is  the  art  which  transmits  thoughtful  emotion  by  language  of 
pleasant  sound,  embodying  images  and  inventions  as  pleas- 
ant as  the  given  emotion  permits.  Poetry,  in  the  ordinary 
sense,  is  that  form  of  literature  which  employs  metre. 


CHAPTER   I 
THE  NOBILITY   OF  ANIMALS 

Scientists  describe  animals  and  classify  them,  some- 
times cutting  them  up  alive  to  be  perfectly  sure  as  to  how 
their  nerves  and  muscles  work;  but  savages,  children,  and 
poets  love  animals.  The  savage  is  near  enough  to  the  beast 
not  to  think  himself  so  very  much  the  superior  creature. 
Hiawatha  talks  of  squirrels  and  birds  as  his  brothers.  Mr. 
Kipling's  creation,  the  jungle-child  Mowgli,  understands 
what  wild  creatures  say.  Children  get  on  famously  with 
cats  and  dogs  that  are  irritable  toward  the  grown.  Great 
artists  find  in  the  higher  brutes  many  manlike  qualities. 
Indeed,  there  are  some  animals  so  human  and  some  men  so 
brutal,  that  if  the  poet  is  properly  to  honor  the  former,  he 
must  neglect  the  latter.  Animals  have  been  known  to  die 
of  grief  on  their  master's  grave;  men  have  been  known  to 
grudge  the  time  they  spent  at  the  funeral  of  a  benefactor. 

Horses  and  dogs  are  by  common  consent  the  noblest  of 
the  lower  creatures,  for  they  enter  into  the  lives  of  their 
masters.  Robert  Browning  has  a  poem  which  exhibits  in 
a  touching  way  the  sympathy  between  the  Arab  and  his 
courser.  Muleykeh,  the  Pearl,  has  never  been  beaten  in 
speed,  even  by  her  sister  Buheyseh.  Both  horses  sleep  in 
their  owner's  tent.  One  night  the  Pearl  is  stolen  by  a  man 
who  has  in  vain  tried  to  buy  or  beg  her.  H6seyn  sees  that 
the  tether  is  cut  which  bound  her  to  his  ankle,  and  that  the 
mare  is  gone.  He  springs  on  Buheyseh  and  follows  like 
the  wind.     Now  we  see  the  problem :  either  he  must  lose 

14 


THE   NOBILITY  OF  ANIMALS 


15 


the  Pearl  or  the  Pearl  must  lose  her  record.  Buheyseh 
gains,  frantic  to  beat  her  sister.  The  master  cannot  bear  it. 
He  shouts  to  the  thief  to  touch  the  right  ear  and  press  the 
left  flank.  The  Pearl  hears  the  familiar  voice  and  springs 
away  beyond  hope  of  recovery.  The  Arab  returns,  and  is 
ridiculed  by  his  friends.  Had  he  kept  his  mouth  shut, 
here  would  have  been  the  Pearl  again,  the  eyed  like  an 
antelope :  — 

"  And  the  beaten  in  speed !  "  wept  Hoseyn; 
"You  have  never  loved  my  Pearl." 

In  reading  of  famous  horseback  rides  we  are  often  at 
loss  to  know  which  is  the  true  hero  of  the  hour,  —  the  man 
or  the  animal.  In  Longfellow's  Ride  of  Paul  Revere  it  is 
the  midnight  message  which  we  honor,  but  the  poet  cannot 
help  saying  that  the  spark  struck  out  by  that  steed  in  his 
flight  kindled  the  land  into  flame  with  its  heat.  In 
Buchanan  Read's  Sheridan's  Ride  the  balance  of  praise  is 
quite  with  the  galloping  black,  although  the  poet  hurrahs 
for  horse  and  man.  In  O'Reilly's  Ride  of  Collins  Grave 
we  forget  all  but  the  errand,  —  to  save  a  town  from  death 
by  flood.  After  reading  the  first  two  poems  in  this  chapter, 
decide  in  each  case  whether  the  balance  of  honor  is  evenly 
divided  or  whether  the  horse  is  the  hero. 

The  first  of  these  two  poems  is  by  Mrs.  Norton,  an  Eng-   The  King 
lish  poet  of  the  last  generation.     The  king  and  his  thirty  of  De,n- 
nobles  mount  in  hot  haste,   and  away  they  start  for  the   Ride, 
castle  where  the  king's  betrothed  lies  dying.     The  nobles   P-  l8- 
are  beaten  one  by  one;  only  the  king  and  his  little  fair 
page  win  through.     Even  the  page  drops  now,  and  the  king 
rides  in  alone.     His  charger  has  strained  every  nerve,  but 
it  is  too  late.     The  king  comes  back  into  the  courtyard. 
Choking   with  grief,    he   bows   his   head   on   the   horse's 
neck. 


!6  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

How  they  The  second  poem  is  by  Browning.  It  tells  of  a  ride 
GoodNews  made  from  Ghent,  in  the  Netherlands,  to  Aix-la-Chapelle, 
from  Ghent  in  France,  to  bring  word  of  the  treaty,  —  a  piece  of  news 
to  lx'  that,  if  in  time,  would  save  Aix  from  being  burned  by  her 
own  despairing  citizens.  Historically  there  was  never  such 
a  ride,  but  the  story  is  so  magnificently  told  that  there 
really  ought  to  have  been  such  an  incident.  According  to 
Browning  there  were  three  messengers,  — Joris,  Dirck,  and 
the  unnamed  man  who  tells  the  tale.  They  start  at  mid- 
night and  ride  steadily  till  the  next  afternoon.  They  pass 
town  after  town,  —  Lokeren,  Boom,  Duffeld,  Mecheln, 
Aershot,  Hasselt,  Looz,  Tongres,  Dalhem,  —  Dirck  and 
Joris  dropping  out  by  the  way,  until  at  last  the  horse 
Roland  gallops  into  Aix,  and  his  hatless,  bootless,  beltless 
rider  knows  no  more.  When  he  comes  to  himself  he  is 
sitting  on  the  ground,  with  Roland's  head  in  his  lap.  He 
calls  for  wine  to  give  the  horse.  Aix  has  used  up  her  wine 
in  the  siege;  but  somehow  a  single  last  precious  measure  is 
found,  and  the  burgesses  instantly  vote  that  it  belongs  to 
Roland. 

The  dog  has  fared  in  poetry  almost  as  well  as  the  horse. 
Even  Homer,  whose  Greeks  are  always  praising  their  swift 
steeds,  introduces  a  dog  at  one  of  the  most  dramatic  mo- 
ments of  the  "Odyssey."  After  Ulysses  has  endured  every 
manner  of  peril  by  land  and  sea,  and  managed  to  get  back 
home,  no  one  recognizes  him  without  help  except  his  old 
dog  Argos.  "  He  wagged  his  tail  and  dropped  both  ears, 
but  toward  his  master  had  not  strength  to  move."  That 
Shakspere  has  little  to  say  about  dogs  is  perhaps  due  to 
the  difficulty  of  introducing  them  on  the  stage.  Tennyson 
has  an  old  Rover  —  "  Owd  Roa  "  —  who  saves  a  child's  life 
in  the  smoke  of  the  burning  building,  and  is  in  turn  saved 
by  his  master.  Telling  his  rescued  boy  how  it  happened, 
the  old  farmer  says :  — 


THE  NOBILITY  OF  ANIMALS  ij 

"  Sa  I  browt  tha  down,  an'  I  says  '  I  mun 

Gaw  up  agean  fur  Roa.' 
•  Gaw  up  agean  fur  the  varmint  ?  ' 

I  tell'd  'er  '  Yeas  I  mun  goa.'  " 

Both  Tennyson  and  Browning  were  bitterly  opposed  to 
vivisection  —  cutting  into  a  live  creature  to  observe  the 
effect  of  drugs  upon  it,  or  to  settle  questions  of  anatomy. 
At  times  vivisection  has  furnished  knowledge  whereby 
human  life  has  been  saved;  at  other  times  it  has  been  a 
profitless  cruelty.  Browning's  poem  called  Tray  is  an  Tray, p.  23. 
extremely  sharp  satire  on  vivisection.  The  poet  represents 
himself  as  asking  a  group  of  friends  to  sing  him  the  story 
of  some  real  hero.  One  begins  to  recount  a  deed  of  Sir 
Olaf,  the  good  knight;  the  poet  cuts  him  short.  A  second 
starts  to  praise  some  hero  not  so  righteous  as  Sir  Olaf;  the 
poet  will  not  listen  to  him  either.  A  third  begins  to  speak 
of  a  beggar  child  who  fell  from  a  quay  into  the  water.  The 
poet  is  interested  and  attends.  The  bystanders  on  the  quay 
did  not  come  to  the  child's  assistance;  their  lives  were  too 
precious  to  their  families  to  be  risked.  A  dog,  however, 
jumped  in,  saved  the  child  with  difficulty,  and  then  returned 
for  the  little  one's  doll,  much  to  the  amusement  of  the 
rational  beings  who  looked  on.  Convinced  that  the  second 
rescue  was  an  absurd,  a  merely  instinctive  act,  one  by- 
stander sent  off  to  catch  the  animal  and  have  its  brain  vivi- 
sected, to  see  how  dog's  brain  secretes  dog's  soul! 

Sir  Walter  Scott  was  a  great  lover  of  animals;  a  list  of 
noble  dogs  and  horses  could  be  made  from  his  novels. 
The  poem  called  Helvellyn  concerns  the  heroism  of  a  little  Helvellyn, 
terrier.  Scott  climbed  the  great  mountain  Helvellyn,  in  P-  25- 
the  English  lake  region,  —  how  well  the  present  writer  re- 
members doing  the  same  thing  because  Sir  Walter  wrote 
this  poem, — and  saw  the  place  where,  in  1805,  a  young 
man  perished,   and  where,   three  months  later,  his  body 


!8  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

was  found,  guarded  by  the  faithful  dog.  They  have  raised 
a  cairn  of  stones  on  the  spot  now;  but  Wordsworth's  poem 
Fidelity  and  Scott's  Helvellyn  are  the  lasting  memorials  of 
that  dumb  hero. 


THE   KING  OF   DENMARK'S   RIDE 
Caroline  Elizabeth  S.  Norton 

Word  was  brought  to  the  Danish  king 

(Hurry!) 
That  the  love  of  his  heart  lay  suffering, 
And  pin'd  for  the  comfort  his  voice  would  bring; 

(Oh !  ride  as  though  you  were  flying !)  5 

Better  he  loves  each  golden  curl 
On  the  brow  of  that  Scandinavian  girl 
Than  his  rich  crown  jewels  of  ruby  and  pearl; 

And  his  rose  of  the  isles  is  dying ! 

Thirty  nobles  saddled  with  speed,  10 

(Hurry!) 
Each  one  mounting  a  gallant  steed 
Which  he  kept  for  battle  and  days  of  need; 

(Oh !  ride  as  though  you  were  flying !) 

2.  Does  Hurry  rhyme  with  any  word  ?  Does  it  increase  the  speed  of  the 
poem  ?  3.  Ordinarily  where  do  you  accent  suffering?  What  two  accents 
fall  on  this  word  in  the  poem  ?  It  is  not  good  poetic  art  to  force  an  un- 
natural accent  upon  a  word.  5.  This  line  closes  without  an  accent.  Such 
a  line  is  said  to  have  a  feminine  ending.  In  lines  5  and  9  do  the  feminine 
endings  hasten  or  retard  the  motion  of  the  poem  ?  9.  Having  read  the 
stanza  aloud,  do  you  find  the  metre  rapid  enough  to  suggest  a  swift  ride  ? 
10.  Note  where  the  accents  fall :  Thirty  n6bles  saddled  with  speed.  Let 
us  mark  the  unaccented  syllables  thus  v.  Then  we  have:  Thirty  n6bles 
saddled  with  speed.  Take  your  pencil  and  mark  all  the  accented  and 
unaccented  syllables  in  the  second  stanza.  You  will  find  four  accents 
to  the  line,  and  will  recognize  the  metre  as  tetrameter  (see  page  13). 


THE  NOBILITY  OF  ANIMALS 


19 


Spurs  were  struck  in  the  foaming  flank;  15 

Worn-out  chargers  stagger' d  and  sank; 
Bridles  were  slacken'd,  and  girths  were  burst; 
But  ride  as  they  would,  the  king  rode  first, 
For  his  rose  of  the  isles  lay  dying ! 

His  nobles  are  beaten,  one  by  one;  ao 

(Hurry!) 
They  have  fainted,  and  falter 'd,  and  homeward  gone; 
His  little  fair  page  now  follows  alone, 

For  strength  and  for  courage  trying. 
The  king  look'd  back  at  that  faithful  child;  25 

Wan  was  the  face  that  answering  smil'd; 
They  passed  the  drawbridge  with  clattering  din, 
Then  he  dropp'd;  and  only  the  king  rode  in 

Where  his  rose  of  the  isles  lay  dying ! 

The  king  blew  a  blast  on  his  bugle  horn;  30 

(Silence !) 
No  answer  came;  but  faint  and  forlorn 
An  echo  return 'd  on  the  cold  gray  morn, 

Like  the  breath  of  a  spirit  sighing. 
The  castle  portal  stood  grimly  wide;  35 

None  welcom'd  the  king  from  that  weary  ride; 
For  dead,  in  the  light  of  the  dawning  day, 
The  pale  sweet  form  of  the  welcomer  lay, 

Who  had  yearn'd  for  his  voice  while  dying! 

The  panting  steed,  with  a  drooping  crest,  40 

Stood  weary. 
The  king  return' d  from  her  chamber  of  rest, 
The  thick  sobs  choking  in  his  breast; 
And,  that  dumb  companion  eying, 

25-26.  What  trait  of  the  king  is  suggested? 


20  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

The  tears  gush'd  forth  which  .he  strove  to  check;  45 

He  bowed  his  head  on  his  charger's  neck: 
"  O  steed  —  that  every  nerve  didst  strain, 
Dear  steed,  our  ride  hath  been  in  vain 

To  the  halls  where  my  love  lay  dying ! " 

45.  What  trait  of  the  king  ?  In  a  few  words  sketch  the  character  of 
the  king  as  you  now  know  it. 

Has  the  poem  unity  —  is  all  about  one  event  ?  Has  it  climax  —  that  is, 
does  it  become  steadily  more  interesting  ?  Is  it  clear,  easy  to  understand  ? 
Has  it  a  good  deal  of  force  — that  is,  does  it  stir  the  feelings  ?  Do  you 
learn  anything  about  the  horse  except  that  it  was  swift  and  sympathetic  ? 


HOW  THEY  BROUGHT  THE  GOOD  NEWS  FROM 
GHENT  TO  AIX 

Robert  Browning 

I  sprang  to  the  stirrup,  and  Joris,  and  he; 

I  galloped,  Dirck  galloped,  we  galloped  all  three ; 

"Good  speed!  "  cried  the  watch,  as  the  gate-bolts  undrew; 

"Speed !  "  echoed  the  wall  to  us  galloping  through; 

Behind  shut  the  postern,  the  lights  sank  to  rest,  5 

And  into  the  midnight  we  galloped  abreast. 

Not  a  word  to  each  other;  we  kept  the  great  pace 

Neck  by  neck,  stride  by  stride,  never  changing  our  place; 

I  turned  in  my  saddle  and  made  its  girths  tight, 

1.  Name  the  metre  according  to  the  number  of  accents  (see  p.  13). 
2.  Does  this  line  suggest  a  gallop?  Would  it  be  more  like  a  gallop  if, 
instead  of  Dirck,  the  word  were  and?  Mark  the  accented  and  unaccented 
syllables  in  this  line  ;  it  begins  with  an  accented  syllable.  Turn  back  to 
the  first  stanza  of  Mrs.  Norton's  poem  and  see  if  any  lines  begin  with  an 
unaccented  syllable.  Which  of  the  two  poems  is  the  more  suggestive  of  a 
gallop?  8.  Why  is  this  line  difficult  to  say  rapidly?  When  said  rapidly 
and  well,  does  it  help  or  hinder  our  getting  the  poet's  thought? 


THE  NOBILITY   OF  ANIMALS  2I 

Then  shortened  each  stirrup,  and  set  the  pique  right,        10 
Rebuckled  the  cheek-strap,  chained  slacker  the  bit, 
Nor  galloped  less  steadily  Roland  a  whit. 

'Twas  moonset  at  starting;  but  while  we  drew  near 

Lokeren,  the  cocks  crew  and  twilight  dawned  clear; 

At  Boom,  a  great  yellow  star  came  out  to  see;  15 

At  Diiffeld,  'twas  morning  as  plain  as  could  be; 

And  from  Mecheln  church-steeple  we  heard  the  half-chime, 

So,  Joris  broke  silence  with,  "Yet  there  is  time! " 

At  Aershot,  up  leaped  of  a  sudden  the  sun, 

And  against  him  the  cattle  stood  black  every  one,  20 

To  stare  thro'  the  mist  at  us  galloping  past, 

And  I  saw  my  stout  galloper  Roland  at  last, 

With  resolute  shoulders,  each  butting  away 

The  haze,  as  some  bluff  river  headland  its  spray : 

And  his  low  head  and  crest,  just  one  sharp  ear  bent  back    25 
For  my  voice,  and  the  other  pricked  out  on  his  track; 
And  one  eye's  black  intelligence,  —  ever  that  glance 
O'er  its  white  edge  at  me,  his  own  master,  askance! 
And  the  thick  heavy  spume-flakes  which  aye  and  anon 
His  fierce  lips  shook  upwards  in  galloping  on.  30 

By  Hasselt,  Dirck  groaned;  and  cried  Joris,  "Stay  spur! 

Your  Roos  galloped  bravely,  the  fault's  not  in  her, 

We'll  remember  at  Aix  "  —  for  one  heard  the  quick  wheeze 

11.  Hard  or  easy  to  pronounce?  Was  the  action  itself  hard  or  easy? 
12.  Hard  or  easy  to  pronounce?  Do  lines  n  and  12  make  a  good  contrast 
between  the  horse's  action  and  the  man's?  25-30.  Would  not  these  lines 
be  more  pleasant  to  the  ear  if  there  were  fewer  monosyllables  and  more 
such  polysyllables  as  steadily,  resolute,  galloper,  galloping,  "Joris,  yellow, 
shoulders  f 


24  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

"'  Up  he  comes  with  the  child,  see,  tight 

In  mouth,  alive  too,  clutched  from  quite 

A  depth  of  ten  feet  —  twelve,  I  bet ! 

Good  dog!     What,  off  again?    There's  yet  25 

Another  child  to  save?     All  right! 

" '  How  strange  we  saw  no  other  fall ! 

It's  instinct  in  the  animal. 

Good  dog!     But  he's  a  long  while  under: 

If  he  got  drowned  I  should  not  wonder  —  •  30 

Strong  current,  that  against  the  wall ! 

Ui  Here  he  comes,  holds  in  mouth  this  time 

—  What  may  the  thing  be?     Well,  that's  prime! 

Now,  did  you  ever  ?     Reason  reigns 

In  man  alone,  since  all  Tray's  pains  35 

Have  fished  —  the  child's  doll  from  the  slime! ' 

"And  so,  amid  the  laughter  gay, 

Trotted  my  hero  off,  —  old  Tray,  — 

Till  somebody,  prerogatived 

With  reason,  reasoned:  'Why  he  dived,  40 

His  brain  would  show  us,  I  should  say. 

" '  John,  go  and  catch  —  or,  if  needs  be, 

Purchase  —  that  animal  for  me ! 

By  vivisection,  at  expense 

Of  half  an  hour  and  eighteenpence,  45 

How  brain  secretes  dog's  soul,  we'll  see ! '  " 


39.  prerogatived  with  reason  —  privileged  (to  say  so  and  so). 

Having  read  the  poem,  do  you  find  the  metre  smooth  and  flowing,  or 
abrupt  and  difficult?  Name  it  according  to  number  of  accents  (see  p.  13). 
Has  the  poem  unity?  climax?  perfect  clearness?  force? 


THE  NOBILITY  OF  ANIMALS  2$ 

HELVELLYN 

Sir  Walter  Scott 

I  climb'd  the  dark  brow  of  the  mighty  Helvellyn, 

Lakes  and  mountains  beneath  me  gleam' d  misty  and 
wide; 
All  was  still,  save  by  fits,  when  the  eagle  was  yelling, 

And  starting  around  me  the  echoes  replied. 
On  the  right,  Striden-edge  round  the  Redtarn  was  bending, 
And  Catchedicam  its  left  verge  was  defending.  6 

One  huge  nameless  rock  in  the  front  was  ascending, 

When  I  mark'd  the  sad  spot  where  the  wanderer  had  died. 

Dark  green  was  that  spot  'mid  the  brown  mountain-heather, 
Where  the  Pilgrim  of  Nature  lay  stretch'd  in  decay,      10 
Like  the  corpse  of  an  outcast  abandoned  to  weather, 
Till  the  mountain  winds  wasted  the  tenantless  clay. 
Nor  yet  quite  deserted,  though  lonely  extended, 
For,  faithful  in  death,  his  mute  favorite  attended, 
The  much-loved  remains  of  her  master  defended,  15 

And  chased  the  hill-fox  and  the  raven  away. 

How  long  didst  thou  think  that  his  silence  was  slumber? 

When  the  wind  waved  his  garment,  how  oft  didst  thou 
start? 
How  many  long  days  and  long  weeks  didst  thou  number, 

Ere  he  faded  before  thee,  the  friend  of  thy  heart?  20 
And  oh!  was  it  meet,  that  —  no  requiem  read  o'er  him  — 

1.  Trimeter,  tetrameter,  pentameter,  hexameter,  or  heptameter?  2.  Mas- 
culine or  feminine  ending?  3.  A  very  bad  rhyme.  5.  Masculine  or 
feminine  ending?  8.  Is  the  variety  of  endings  in  this  stanza  pleasant? 
10.  Pilgrim  of  Nature  evidently  means  that  the  young  man  who  was  lost 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  taking  solitary  rambles  to  study  nature. 


26  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

No  mother  to  weep,  and  no  friend  to  deplore  him, 
And  thou,  little  guardian,  alone  stretch'd  before  him  — 
Unhonor'd  the  Pilgrim  from  life  should  depart? 

When  a  Prince  to  the  fate  of  the  Peasant  has  yielded,       25 
The  tapestry  waves  dark  round  the  dim-lighted  hall; 

With  scutcheons  of  silver  the  coffin  is  shielded, 
And  pages  stand  mute  by  the  canopied  pall : 

Through   the   courts,   at  deep  midnight,   the  torches  are 
gleaming; 

In  the  proudly-arch' d  chapel  the  banners  are  beaming,     30 

Far  adown  the  long  aisle  sacred  music  is  streaming, 
Lamenting  a  Chief  of  the  people  should  fall. 

But  meeter  for  thee,  gentle  lover  of  nature, 

To  lay  down  thy  head  like  the  meek  mountain  lamb, 
When,  wilder'd,  he  drops  from  some  cliff  huge  in  stature, 

And  draws  his  last  sob  by  the  side  of  his  dam.  36 

And  more  stately  thy  couch  by  this  desert  lake  lying, 
Thy  obsequies  sung  by  the  gray  plover  flying, 
With  one  faithful  friend  but  to  witness  thy  dying, 

In  the  arms  of  Helvellyn  and  Catchedicam.  4° 

35.  wilder'd,  bewildered.  Stature,  nature,  an  imperfect,  but  not  un- 
pleasant rhyme. 

Enumerate  the  sounds  suggested  in  this  poem.  What  two  pictures 
does  Scott  contrast? 


Plan  of  Summary. — Reviewing  the  chapter,  (1)  enumerate  the 
kinds  of  metre,  naming  them  merely  by  the  number  of  accents  in  the  line. 
Then  (2)  say  which  poem  is  most  noticeable  for  melody;  (3)  which 
for  beauty  of  suggested  sights;  (4)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested 
sounds;  (5)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  activity;  (6)  which  is 
most  easily  understood;  (7)  which  moves  the  reader  most  deeply; 
(8)  which  shows  most  skill  in  character  drawing;  (9)  which,  your 
critical  judgment  tells  you,  is  the  best  piece  of  work;  (10)  which  you 
like  the  best,  —  without  regard  to  its  deserved  rank,  or  its  fame. 


CHAPTER   II 
THE   HEROISM   OF  WAR 

Whether  righteous  or  unrighteous,  every  war  is  a  terrible 
thing.  The  boy  dreams  of  it,  is  haunted  by  the  thought  of 
it,  dreads  it.  He  imagines  himself  leading  forlorn  hopes, 
sustaining  hideous  wounds,  or  meeting  death  with  fortitude ; 
but  he  thanks  his  stars  when  he  remembers  that  he  is  not  yet 
called  to  arms.  It  is  therefore  extraordinary  that,  when  war 
actually  breaks  out,  boys  are  not  slow  to  enlist.  They  be- 
come different  persons.  Reserve  powers,  that  not  even  they 
suspected,  have  been  called  out.  Yesterday  they  thought 
death  the  most  horrible  thing  in  the  world;  to-day  they 
regard  it  as  an  incident.  Suppose  they  die;  they  will  do 
their  duty  first.  If  they  cannot  control  death,  they  will  defy 
him  ;  put  them  in  a  hopeless  fight,  and  they  will  sell  their 
lives  as  dearly  as  possible.  This  defiance  of  the  uncontrol- 
lable we  call  sublimity  of  character. 

Emerson's  lines  beginning,  "  In  an  Age  of  Fops  and  Toys," 
remind  us  that  a  possibility  of  the  sublime  is  in  every  boy. 

So  nigh  is  grandeur  to  our  dust, 
So  near  is  God  to  man, 
When  Duty  whispers  low,  Thou  must, 
The  Youth  replies,  /  can.     , 

This  was  often  demonstrated  in  i860,  in  the  case  of  tender 
boys  who,  as  Emerson  elsewhere  puts  it,  "  had  never  en- 
countered any  rougher  play  than  a  baseball  match." 

Once  in  the  war,  the  youth  has  no  lack  of  chances  to  live 
the  same  first  experience  over.     One  day  he  is  a  common- 

27 


28 


STUDY   OF  LITERATURE 


The 

Private  of 
the  Buffs, 
P-34- 


The 

Charge  of 
the  Light 
Brigade, 
p.  36. 


The 

Revenge, 
p.  38. 


place  soldier,  the  next,  a  hero.  Perhaps  he  is  anything  but 
the  educated  and  refined  youth  of  Emerson's  thought,  and 
yet  have  splendid  possibilities.  The  British  soldier,  as  Mr. 
Kipling  has  shown  him  to  us,  is  rather  a  rough  piece  of 
humanity,  even  when  he  is  fighting  for  "  The  Widow."  The 
first  poem  in  this  chapter,  by  Sir  Francis  Doyle,  exhibits 
exactly  this  kind  of  fellow,  poor,  reckless,  rude,  low-born, 
untaught,  who  last  night  jested,  quaffed,  and  swore,  but 
who  to-day  would  not  flinch,  though  torn  limb  from  limb. 
He  dies  like  a  Spartan,  for  his  soul  is  great. 

He  probably  would  deny  that  he  is  brave.  Emerson 
writes  as  follows  in  his  essay  on  Courage :  — 

"  I  knew  a  young  soldier  who  died  in  the  early  campaign, 
who  confided  to  his  sister  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
volunteer  for  the  war.  '  I  have  not,'  he  said,  '  any  proper 
courage,  but  I  shall  never  let  any  one  find  it  out.'  And  he 
had  accustomed  himself  always  to  go  into  whatever  place  of 
danger,  and  do  whatever  he  was  afraid  to  do,  setting  a 
dogged  resolution  to  resist  this  natural  infirmity." 

If  the  young  soldier  must  fight,  he  prefers  to  charge. 
When  elbow  touches  elbow  in  a  double-quick,  or  stirrup 
grazes  stirrup  in  a  gallop,  then  nobody  stops  to  reckon  the 
chances  of  coming  out  alive.  Mr.  Edmund  Clarence  Sted- 
man  and  the  late  Lord  Tennyson  have  celebrated  the  glorious 
rush  of  the  cavalry  charge.  The  incident  of  the  latter's 
poem  is  historic,  belonging  to  the  Crimean  War,  where 
dogged  English  met  savage  Russians.  Six  hundred  British 
horsemen  charged  what  was  practically  an  army ;  a  few  came 
back. 

The  English  soldier  is  good  at  this  kind  of  thing.  He  has 
no  serious  objection  to  fighting  against  a  few  odds,  and  he 
is  said  not  to  know  when  he  is  beaten.  A  braver  deed  than 
the  charge  of  the  light  brigade  was  the  attack  made  by  a 
single  English  ship,  the  Revenge,  on  fifty-three  galleons  of 


THE  HEROISM    OE   WAR 


29 


the  Spanish  Armada.  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  a  cousin  of  Sir 
Richard  Grenville,  who  commanded  the  Revenge,  has  a 
fine  prose  account  of  the  exploit,  and  Tennyson,  keeping 
very  close  to  the  facts,  has  written  on  the  same  subject  one 
of  the  best  of  war  ballads.  It  seems  that  when  the  Span- 
iards were  reported  to  Sir  Richard  at  Flores,  in  the  Azores, 
there,  were  five  other  English  ships  with  him,  under  com- 
mand of  Lord  Thomas  Howard.  This  gentleman  had  the 
reputation  of  a  brave  soldier,  but  he  was  no  Grenville;  so 
he  got  away  with  his  five  ships,  to  mend  them  for  a  battle. 
Grenville,  delaying  to  bring  his  sick  aboard,  could  not 
escape  meeting  the  enemy.  He  made  straight  at  the  gal- 
leons, fought  them  for  a  day  and  a  night,  sank  some  and 
shattered  many,  and  yielded  only  when  wounded  to  the 
death. 

Fighting  is  not  the  only  duty  of  war.*  Sometimes  it  is  a 
soldier's  business  to  stand  very  still  and  be  shot  at.  Some- 
times it  is  to  bear  privation  or  disease  gracefully.  Some- 
times it  is  to  wait  for  months  for  reinforcements,  as  Gordon 
waited  at  Khartoum,  only  to  lose  his  life  by  his  govern- 
ment's delay.  Waiting  to  be  rescued  is  not  always  blessed 
by  such  relief  as  came  to  the  British  soldiers  shut  up  in 
Lucknow.  Robert  Lowell  and  Whittier  have  both  sung 
that  story,  with  its  honorable  mention  of  the  Highland  girl 
whose  keen  ear  caught  the  sound  of  the  Highland  pipes 
before  any  one  else  in  that  despairing  garrison  could  hear 
them.  Sometimes  it  is  a  soldier's  business  to  die  as  those 
of  the  Birkenhead  died,  whom  Sir  Francis  Doyle  has  com- 
memorated. The  Birkenhead  went  on  the  rocks  of  the  The  Loss  of 
African  coast,  in  1852.  Five  hundred  persons  —  soldiers  ^a^trken~ 
and  their  families  —  were  on  board,  besides  the  crew.  The 
water  was  full  of  sharks.  The  soldiers  were  marshalled  on 
deck  and  stood  at  attention  while  the  women  and  children 
were  carried  ashore  in  the  boats.     The  ship  did  not  hold 


30  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

together  long,  but  when  she  keeled  over  and  went  down, 
nearly  all  the  soldiers  were  still  standing  at  attention. 

This  "disciplined  heroism,"  as  Lowell  termed  it,   has 
come  to  be  called  "the  Birkenhead   drill."      When   the 
magnificent  new  battleship  Victoria  capsized,  a  few  years 
ago,  the  Birkenhead  drill  was  easily  enforced.     Admiral, 
Soldier  and   officers,  and  marines  went  down  together.     Mr.   Kipling 
Sailor  loo,   wrote  a  diaiect  poem  celebrating  the  behavior  of  the  ma- 
rines on  this  occasion,   and  Mr.   Watts-Dunton   made  a 
manVin-     noble  sonnet  on  the  conduct  of  two  officers,  one  of  the 
yon,  p.  48.     highest  rank  in  the  service,  the  other  of  the  lowest,  who 
stood  shoulder  to  shoulder  at  the  wheel. 

Such  deeds  as  these  tax  the  courage  of  the  bravest,  but 
it  must  be  remembered  that  one  ship  is  not  one  man. 
Courage  is  contagious.     Probably  it  is  easier  to  die  with 
The  Drums  many  than  venture  *alone  against  a  few.     Even  the  superb 
andhAft°re    exPloit  of  rallying  an  army  by  the  sound  of  fife  and  drum, 
P.  49.  an  exploit  achieved  by  the  two  boys  in  Mr.  Kipling's  story, 

would  hardly  have  been  dared  by  one  alone.  There  is 
nothing  in  fiction  more  stirring  than  the  account  of  how 
these  fourteen-year-old  gamins,  the  very  scourings  of  the 
street,  watched  with  disgust  the  flight  of  their  regiment 
before  the  terrible  Afghan  knives,  and  then  sallied  out 
across  an  exposed  valley,  within  easy  range  of  hundreds  of 
Martinis,  to  see  if  their  discordant  little  strains  of  music 
might  not  save  the  day.  That  music  did  save  the  day, 
though  both  drummers  had  to  seal  the  bargain  with  their 
lives.  Into  this  act  there  entered  several  elements :  first,  the 
inborn  heroic  courage  which  distinguished  these  little  mar- 
tyrs; then  the  pride  and  confidence  that  grows  out  of  com- 
radeship; and  lastly,  I  regret  to  say,  the  fumes  of  a  certain 
incident  of  amount  of  canteen  rum.  Lonely  and  fine  as  this  bravery 
the  trench  was^  Browning's  Incident  of  the  French  Camp  exploits  a 
p.  81. '         lonelier  and  finer  bravery  as  it  appeared  in  a  boy  of  the 


THE  HEROISM   OF   WAR 


31 


Napoleonic  wars.  He  rode  alone  on  a  dangerous  mission  to 
acquaint  the  emperor  with  the  fall  of  Ratisbon,  an  important 
post  of  the  enemy.  He  made  his  report  in  erect  military 
fashion,  and  the  despondent  Napoleon  was  instantly  encour- 
aged in  his  plans  —  they  soared  up  again  like  fire.  But 
presently  the  keen  eye  of  the  great  man  perceived  that  the 
lad  was  hurt.  "You're  wounded!"  "Nay,  I'm  killed, 
sire,"  replied  the  proud  boy,  as  he  fell  at  his  emperor's 
feet. 

The  last  poem  by  Browning  in  this  chapter  indicates  the  Herve 
worth  of  the  unassuming  hero,  and  the  many  kinds  of  skil-  Riel* p#  83< 
ful  individual  service  required  in  war.  In  the  English  war 
with  the  French,  1692,  a  French  squadron  was  almost 
chased  ashore  at  Saint-Malo.  It  begged  for  harbor,  but 
the  pilots  of  the  place  declared  that  ships  of  such  burthen 
could  not  clear  the  rocks  at  the  narrow  river  mouth.  In 
this  dilemma  a  simple  Breton  sailor,  Herv^  Riel,  offered  to 
get  the  squadron  safely  in  or  forfeit  his  head.  The  com- 
mander, Damfreville,  let  him  try.  Riel  saved  the  twenty- 
two  ships,  and  would  take  no  other  reward  than  release  from 
the  service  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  Browning,  who  likes  to 
sharpen  dramatic  effects,  makes  him  ask  and  get  nothing 
but  a  single  holiday. 

It  is  fine  to  see  what  a  high  sense  of  loyalty  is  developed 
in  war.     At  the  very  time  when  camp  and  field  are  ruining 
many  of  the  soldiers,  turning  them  into  cruel,  profane,  and 
drunken  brutes,  the  sense  of  duty  to  the  flag  is  the  last 
quality  of  character  to  degenerate.     A  deserter  is  a  rare   The 
thing,  whether  in  an  Anglo-Saxon  or  in  a  Spanish  army.    jjl^Jj* 
Mr.  Gerald  Massey  makes  use  of  the  soldier's  hatred  for  Cause, 
desertion  to  exhibit  the  detestable  quality  of  a  deserter  from  p* 8g- 
any  cause. 

In  the  account  of  the  Birkenhead  we  had  a  story  of  pas- 
sive heroism,  noble  endurance.     Two  poems  in  this  chapter 


32 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


Heather 
Ale,  p.  90. 


Adam  of 
Gordon, 
P-93- 


A  Plan- 
tation 
Heroine, 
p.  96. 

Decora- 
tion, p.  103. 


The  Angels 
of  Buena 
Vista,  p.  98. 


exhibit  endurance  unhelped  by  the  stimulus  of  comradeship. 
The  old  man  in  Stevenson's  ballad  refuses  to  disclose  to 
the  enemy  the  secret  of  the  famous  ale,  though  they  slay  his 
son  and  torture  him.  Pretending  that  he  hesitates  to  de- 
base himself  before  his  son  by  treacherously  giving  up  the 
secret,  he  advises  the  enemy  to  drown  the  boy.  When 
this  is  done  he  stifles  his  paternal  anguish,  and  declares 
that  he  feared  the  boy's  ability  to  keep  the  secret.  The 
child  is  silent  forever,  and  torture  of  the  father  will  be  in 
vain.  Adam  Gordon's  lady,  in  the  folk  ballad,  gives  her 
own  life  and  those  of  her  bairns  rather  than  surrender  the 
castle  to  her  husband's  enemy.  The  passive  heroism  of 
woman  is  greater  than  that  of  man.  Woman  is  timid  in 
little  matters,  but  intrepid  in  great.1 

Women  are  as  brave  in  war  time  in  our  own  century  as 
they  ever  were  in  the  past.  Mr.  Eggleston,  once  a  Con- 
federate soldier,  tells  how  women  starved  themselves  to 
furnish  food  for  the  Confederate  army.  Mr.  Higginson, 
once  a  Union  soldier,  declares  that  she  who,  staying  un- 
complainingly at  home,  sent  her  husband  and  sons  to  war, 
was  the  bravest  of  the  brave.  The  courage  of  the  army 
nurse,  who  faces  pestilence  and  death,  has  been  sung  again 
and  again.  Longfellow,  among  other  poets,  wrote  of 
Florence  Nightingale,  whose  shadow  the  soldiers  kissed. 
Whittier  sang  of  the  Mexican  women  who  worked  on  the 
field  of  Buena  Vista.  In  his  note  on  the  subject  he  says: 
"A  letter-writer  from  Mexico  states  that,  at  the  terrible 
fight  of  Buena  Vista,  Mexican  women  were  seen  hovering 
near  the  field  of  death,  for  the  purpose  of  giving  aid  and 

1  When  the  ill-fated  French  liner,  the  Bourgogne,  went  down,  July  4, 
1898,  one  woman  was  saved;  nearly  two  hundred  men  saved  themselves. 
Of  the  scores  of  women  who  were  left  to  drown,  two  were  members  of  the 
Lewis  Institute,  —  Miss  Evelyn  Reeves,  one  of  the  faculty,  and  Miss  Frances 
Hess,  a  student-teacher.  All  the  survivors  admitted  that  the  women  be- 
haved very  calmly  and  bravely. 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR 


33 


succor  to  the  wounded.     One  poor  woman  was  found  sur- 
rounded by  the  maimed  and  suffering  of  both  armies,  min- ' 
istering  to  the  wants  of  Americans  as  well  as  Mexicans, 
with  impartial  tenderness." 

There  is  something  inexpressibly  sad  in  a  soldier's  burial 
in  a  foreign  land.  He  has  fought  for  his  country  and  his 
family,  but  these  are  denied  the  consolation  of  burying 
him.  Tennyson,  grieving  for  his  friend  Arthur  Hallam, 
the  wonderful  youth  who  died  at  twenty- triree,  is  partly 
consoled  when  the  ship  brings  Arthur  home :  — 

Tiswell;   'tis  something;   we  may  stand 

Where  he  in  English  earth  is  laid, 

And  from  his  ashes  may  be  made 
The  violet  of  his  native  land. 

But  it  is  rarely  thus  with  the  soldier  or  the  sailor.     The  one,    The  Burial 
like  Sir  John  Moore,  of  whose  sad  fate  in  Spain  Charles  °fSlrJohn 

J  r  Moore, 

Wolfe  wrote,  is  buried  darkly  at  dead  of  night,  and  left  p.  i04. 
alone,  afar.     The  other's 

heavy-shotted  hammock-shroud 
Drops  in  his  vast  and  wandering  grave. 

Tears  for  such  a  death  cannot  be  too  bitter  if  the  cause 
the  soldier  fought  for  was  unrighteous.  But  the  soldier  of 
a  good  cause  cannot  be  killed.  His  body  may  moulder, 
but  his  soul  goes  marching  on.  A  thousand  will  rally  to 
the  flag  he  tried  to  protect.  When  America  was  forced  to 
free  herself  from  England,  there  were  two  Englands,  one 
of  George  the  Third  and  one  of  Chatham.  The  second  of  The 
these  was  the  sane  England,  and  Chatham  told  the  truth 
when  he  shouted,  "  You  cannot,  my  lords,  you  cannot  con-  p.  105. 
quer  America."  It  is  a  pity  that  the  British  regulars  had 
to  die  for  the  first  of  these  two  Englands.  Lowell,  standing 
beside  the  grave  of  a  British  soldier,  at  Concord,  reflects 
thus : — 


American 
Revolution, 


34 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

These  men  were  brave  enough,  and  true 
To  the  hired  soldier's  bull-dog  creed; 
What  brought  them  here  they  never  knew, 
They  fought  as  suits  the  English  breed; 
They  came  three  thousand  miles,  and  died, 
To  keep  the  Past  upon  its  throne; 
Unheard,  beyond  the  ocean  tide, 
Their  English  mother  made  her  moan. 


Concord  But  the  king  and  Lord  North  did  not  hear  the  shot, 

p.  107.'  which,  Emerson  tells  us,  was  heard  round  the  world.  They 
did  not  understand  that  embattled  farmers,  fighting  any- 
where for  their  homes  and  justice,  will  dare  to  die  and 
leave  their  children  free.  Strangely  enough,  the  English 
whose  grandfathers  belonged  to  the  side  of  Lord  North, 
could  not  understand,  before  1865,  that  Americans  have 
something  more  than  dollars  to  fight  for.  Says  Lowell, 
in  his  delightful  essay,  On  a  Certain  Condescension  in 
Foreigners:  "Till  after  our  Civil  War  it  never  seemed  to 
enter  the  head  of  any  foreigner,  especially  of  an  English- 
man, that  an  American  had  what  could  be  called  a  country, 
except  as  a  place  to  eat,  sleep,  and  trade  in.  Then  it 
seemed  to  strike  them  suddenly.  'By  Jove,  you  know, 
fellahs  don't  fight  like  that  for  a  shop-till!  ■  No,  I  rather 
think  not." 


THE  PRIVATE  OF  THE   BUFFS 

Sir  Francis  Hastings  Doyle 


Last  night,  among  his  fellow-roughs, 
He  jested,  quaff' d,  and  swore  : 

A  drunken  private  of  the  Buffs, 
Who  never  look'd  before. 


THE  HEROISM    OF   WAR  35 

To-day,  beneath  the  foeman's  frown,  5 

He  stands  in  Elgin's  place, 
Ambassador  from  Britain's  crown, 

And  type  of  all  her  race. 

Poor,  reckless,  rude,  low-born,  untaught, 

Bewilder'd,  and  alone,  10 

A  heart,  with  English  instinct  fraught, 

He  yet  can  call  his  own. 
Ay,  tear  his  body  limb  from  limb, 

Bring  cord,  or  axe,  or  flame ; 
He  only  knows,  that  not  through  him  15 

Shall  England  come  to  shame. 

Far  Kentish  hop-fields  round  him  seem'd, 

Like  dreams,  to  come  and  go ; 
Bright  leagues  of  cherry-blossom  gleam'd, 

One  sheet  of  living  snow ;  20 

The  smoke,  above  his  father's  door, 

In  gray  soft  eddyings  hung : 
Must  he  then  watch  it  rise  no  more, 

Doom'd  by  himself,  so  young? 

Yes,  honor  calls  !  —  with  strength  like  steel  25 

He  put  the  vision  by. 
Let  dusky  Indians  whine  and  kneel ; 

An  English  lad  must  die. 

Note  the  metre :  there  are  eight  syllables  in  the  line,  with  four  accents. 
That  gives  four  feet,  thus:  w'l  u'l  w'l  u'l-  In  eacn  foot  tne  un- 
accented syllable  comes  first,  and  the  foot  is  therefore  an  iambus  (see  p. 
13).     The  verses  are  alternately  iambic  tetrameter  and  iambic  trimeter. 

Note  the  rhyme-scheme  ;  it  may  be  marked  algebraically  thus  :  a  b  a  b, 
c  d  c  d. 

6.  Lord  Elgin  (the  g  is  hard)  was  a  famous  English  ambassador.  16.  In 
a  few  words  describe  the  physical  appearance  and  bearing  of  the  hero  from 
what  you  have  thus  far  read.  24.  Does  this  third  stanza  contain  any  sugges- 
tion of  sounds?     What  colors  are  there  in  the  soft  Kentish  landscape  ? 


36  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

And  thus,  with  eyes  that  would  not  shrink, 

With  knee  to  man  unbent,  30 

Unfaltering  on  its  dreadful  brink, 
To  his  red  grave  he  went. 

Vain,  mightiest  fleets,  of  iron  fram'd; 

Vain,  those  all-shattering  guns; 
Unless  proud  England  keep,  untam'd,  35 

The  strong  heart  of  her  sons. 
So,  let  his  name  through  Europe  ring  — 

A  man  of  mean  estate, 
Who  died,  as  firm  as  Sparta's  king, 

Because  his  soul  was  great.  40 

32.  What  is  the  strongest  adjective  in  the  fourth  stanza  ? 

Select  from  the  entire  poem  all  the  words  that  appeal  to  the  sense  of 
muscular  tension.  Which  of  the  following  adjectives  best  describes  the 
tone  of  the  poem  —  vigorous,  pleasing,  rugged,  stirring,  charming  ? 


THE  CHARGE   OF  THE   LIGHT   BRIGADE 
Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 

Half  a  league,  half  a  league, 

Half  a  league  onward, 
All  in  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
"  Forward,  the  Light  Brigade !  5 

Charge  for  the  guns!  "  he  said: 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

1.   Dimeter,  trimeter,  tetrameter,  pentameter,  hexameter,  or  heptameter? 
Trochaic  or  dactyllic?     (See  p.  13.) 


THE  HEROISM   OF   WAR  37 

"Forward,  the  Light  Brigade!" 

Was  there  a  man  dismay'd?  10 

Not  tho'  the  soldier  knew 

Some  one  had  blunder' d: 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die :  15 

Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 

Cannon  to  left  of  them, 

Cannon  in  front  of  them  20 

Volley' d  and  thunder' d; 
Storm' d  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well, 
Into  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Into  the  mouth  of  Hell  25 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

Flash' d  all  their  sabres  bare, 

Flash' d  as  they  turn'd  in  air 

Sabring  the  gunners  there, 

Charging  an  army,  while  3° 

All  the  world  wonder'd:' 
Plunged  in  the  battery-smoke 
Right  thro'  the  line  they  broke; 
Cossack  and  Russian 
Reel'd  from  the  sabre-stroke  35 

Shatter'd  and  sunder'd. 
Then  they  rode  back,  but  not  — 

Not  the  six  hundred. 


14-16,  19-21,  27-29,  39-41,  53-54.     Are  the  repetitions  pleasing?     Do 
they  hasten  the  movement?     34-36.   Why  does  this  stanza  have  extra  lines? 


38  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 

Cannon  to  left  of  them,  40 

Cannon  behind  them 

Volley 'd  and  thunder'd; 
Storm 'd  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
While  horse  and  hero  fell, 
They  that  had  fought  so  well  45 

Came  thro'  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Back  from  the  mouth  of  Hell, 
All  that  was  left  of  them, 

Left  of  six  hundred. 

When  can  their  glory  fade?  50 

O  the  wild  charge  they  made ! 

All  the  world  wonder'd. 
Honor  the  charge  they  made ! 
Honor  the  Light  Brigade, 

Noble  six  hundred.  55 

THE  REVENGE 

A  BALLAD  OF  THE  FLEET 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


At  Flores  in  the  Azores  Sir  Richard  Grenville  lay, 

And  a  pinnace,  like  a  flutter' d  bird,  came  flying  from  far 

away: 
"Spanish  ships  of  war  at  sea !  we  have  sighted  fifty-three !  " 

1.  Dimeter,  trimeter,  tetrameter,  pentameter,  hexameter,  or  heptameter  ? 
What  is  the  predominant  foot  ?  (See  p.  13.)  1.  Flores  has  two  syllables. 
2.  Pinnace,  here  a  sailboat.  3,  4,  5,  6,  etc.  Note  the  rhyme  in  the  middle 
of  the  line  —  medial  rhyme.  In  reading,  pause  a  bit  after  each  rhyme. 
What  unpleasant  effect  would  be  given  if  the  half-lines  were  printed  as 
lines?  Note  that  we  enjoy  these  rhymes  in  poetry,  though  spoken  by  sailors: 
whereas  we  should  laugh  at  them  in  real  conversation. 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR 


39 


Then  sware  Lord  Thomas  Howard:  "Tore  God  I  am  no 

coward; 
But  I  can  not  meet  them  here,  for  my  ships  are  out  of 

gear,  5 

And  the  half  my  men  are  sick.     I  must  fly,  but  follow  quick. 
We  are  six  ships  of  the  line;  can  we  fight  with  fifty-three?  " 


Then  spake  Sir  Richard  Grenville:  "I  know  you  are  no 

coward; 
You  fly  them  for  a  moment  to  fight  with  them  again. 
But  I've  ninety  men  and  more  that  are  lying  sick  ashore.      10 
I  should  count  myself  the  coward  if  I  left  them,  my  Lord 

Howard, 
To  these  Inquisition  dogs  and  the  devildoms  of  Spain." 

in 

So  Lord  Howard  past  away  with  five  ships  of  war  that  day, 
Till  he  melted  like  a  cloud  in  the  silent  summer  heaven; 
But  Sir  Richard  bore  in  hand  all  his  sick  men  from  the 

land  15 

Very  carefully  and  slow, 
Men  of  Bideford  in  Devon, 
And  we  laid  them  on  the  ballast  down  below; 
For  we  brought  them  all  aboard, 
And  they  blest  him  in  their  pain,  that  they  were  not  left 

to  Spain,  20 

To  the  thumbscrew  and  the  stake,  for  the  glory  of  the  Lord. 


7.  Ships  of  the  line,  warships  large  enough  for  the  line  of  battle. 
12.  Inquisition:  the  Spanish  Inquisition  was  a  Roman  Catholic  tribunal  for 
punishing  heretics.  Devildoms  seems  to  be  a  vague  uncomplimentary 
name  for  Spanish  localities.  16-17.  Why  are  these  lines  short?  17.  Devon 
has  a  short  e.     20-21.   Why  are  the  lines  long,  as  before? 


40 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


IV 
He  had  only  a  hundred  seamen  to  work  the  ship  and  to 

fight, 
And  he  sail'd  away  from  Flores  till  the  Spaniard  came  in 

sight, 
With  his  huge  sea-castles  heaving  upon  the  weather  bow. 
"  Shall  we  fight  or  shall  we  fly  ?  25 

Good  Sir  Richard,  tell  us  now, 
For  to  fight  is  but  to  die ! 

There'll  be  little  of  us  left  by  the  time  this  sun  be  set." 
And  Sir  Richard  said  again :  "  We  be  all  good  English  men. 
Let  us  bang  these  dogs  of  Seville,   the  children  of  the 

devil,  30 

For  I  never  turn'd  my  back  upon  Don  or  devil  yet." 

v 
Sir  Richard  spoke  and  he  laugh'd,  and  we  roar'd  a  hurrah, 

and  so 
The  little  Revenge  ran  on  sheer  into  the  heart  of  the  foe, 
With  her  hundred  fighters  on  deck,  and  her  ninety  sick 

below; 
For  half  of  their  fleet  to  the  right  and  half  to  the  left  were 

seen,  35 

And  the  little  Revenge  ran  on  thro'  the  long  sea-lane  between. 

VI 

Thousands  of  their  soldiers  look'd  down  from  their  decks 

and  laugh'd, 
Thousands  of  their  seamen  made  mock  at  the  mad  little. 

craft 
Running  on  and  on,  till  delay'd 

24.  Weather  bow  means  the  side  toward  the  wind.  25-27.  Why  are 
these  lines  short?  30.  Seville  always  rhymes  with  devil.  31.  Don,  a 
Spanish  nobleman.  36.  Why  are  there  no  short  lines  in  this  stanza? 
39.  Why  a  short  line? 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR  4I 

By  their  mountain- like  San  Philip  that,  of  fifteen  hundred 
tons,  40 

And  up-shadowing  high  above  us  with  her  yawning  tiers  of 
guns, 

Took  the  breath  from  our  sails,  and  we  stay'd. 

VII 

And  while  now  the  great  San  Philip  hung  above  us  like  a 

cloud 
Whence  the  thunderbolt  will  fall 

Long  and  loud,  45 

Four  galleons  drew  away 
From  the  Spanish  fleet  that  day, 

And  two  upon  the  larboard  and  two  upon  the  starboard  lay, 
And  the  battle-thunder  broke  from  them  all. 

VIII 

But  anon  the  great  San  Philip,  she  bethought  herself  and 
went  50 

Having  that  within  her  womb  that  had  left  her  ill  content; 

And  the  rest  they  came  aboard  us,  and  they  fought  us  hand 
to  hand, 

For  a  dozen  times  they  came  with  their  pikes  and  musketeers, 

And  a  dozen  times  we  shook  'em  off  as  a  dog  that  shakes 
his  ears 

When  he  leaps  from  the  water  to  the  land.  55 

IX 

And  the  sun  went  down,  and  the  stars  came  out  far  over  the 

summer  sea, 
But  never  a  moment  ceased  the  fight  of  the  one  and  the 

fifty-three. 

44-45.  Why  short  lines?     46.   Galleons,  large  Spanish  ships.     46-47.  Do 
these  short  lines  suggest  the  gradual  process  of  drawing  away? 


42 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


Ship  after  ship,  the  whole  night  long,  their  high-built 
galleons  came, 

Ship  after  ship,  the  whole  night  long,  with  her  battle- 
thunder  and  flame; 

Ship  after  ship,  the  whole  night  long,  drew  back  with 
her  dead  and  her  shame.  60 

For  some  were  sunk  and  many  were  shatter' d,  and  so  could 
fight  us  no  more  — 

God  of  battles,  was  ever  a  battle  like  this  in  the  world 
before  ? 


For  he  said  "  Fight  on  !  fight  on !  " 

Tho'  his  vessel  was  all  but  a  wreck; 

And  it  chanced  that,  when  half  of  the  short  summer  night 

was  gone,  65 

With  a  grisly  wound  to  be  drest  he  had  left  the  deck, 
But  a  bullet  struck  him  that  was  dressing  it  suddenly  dead, 
And  himself  he  was  wounded  again  in  the  side  and  the 

head, 
And  he  said  "  Fight  on !  fight  on !  " 

XI 

And  the  night  went  down,  and  the  sun  smiled  out  far  over 
the  summer  sea,  7° 

And  the  Spanish  fleet  with  broken  sides  lay  round  us  all  in 
a  ring; 

But  they  dared  not  touch  us  again,  for  they  fear'd  that  we 
still  could  sting, 

So  they  watch' d  what  the  end  would  be. 

And  we  had  not  fought  them  in  vain, 

But  in  perilous  plight  were  we,  75 

Seeing  forty  of  our  poor  hundred  were  slain, 

And  half  of  the  rest  of  us  maim'd  for  life 


THE  HEROISM   OF   WAR  43 

In  the  crash  of  the  cannonades  and  the  desperate  strife; 
And  the  sick  men  down  in  the  hold  were  most  of  them  stark 

and  cold, 
And  the  pikes  were  all  broken  or  bent,  and  the  powder 

was  all  of  it  spent;  .  80 

And  the  masts  and  the  rigging  were  lying  over  the  side; 
But  Sir  Richard  cried  in  his  English  pride, 
"  We  have  fought  such  a  fight  for  a  day  and  a  night 
As  may  never  be  fought  again ! 

We  have  won  great  glory,  my  men !  85 

And  a  day  less  or  more 
At  sea  or  ashore, 
We  die  —  does  it  matter  when? 
Sink  me  the  ship,  Master  Gunner  —  sink  her,  split  her  in 

twain ! 
Fall  into  the  hands  of  God,  not  into  the  hands  of  Spain !  "  90 

XII 

And  the  gunner  said  "Ay,  ay,"  but  the  seamen  made  reply: 

"  We  have  children,  we  have  wives, 

And  the  Lord  hath  spared  our  lives. 

We  will  make  the  Spanish  promise,  if  we  yield,  to  let  us  go; 

We  shall  live  to  fight  again  and  to  strike  another  blow."   95 

And  the  lion  there  lay  dying,  and  they  yielded  to  the  foe. 

XIII 

And  the  stately  Spanish  men  to  their  flagship  bore  him 

then, 
Where  they  laid  him  by  the  mast,  old  Sir  Richard  caught 

at  last, 
And  they  praised  him  to  his  face  with  their  courtly  foreign 

grace; 
But  he  rose  upon  their  decks,  and  he  cried :  100 


44 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


"I  have  fought  for  Queen  and  Faith  like  a  valiant  man  and 

true; 
I  have  only  done  my  duty  as  a  man  is  bound  to  do : 
With  a  joyful  spirit  I  Sir  Richard  Grenville  die ! " 
And  he  fell  upon  their  decks,  and  he  died. 

xrv 

And   they  stared   at   the  dead   that  had  been   so  valiant 
and  true  105 

And  had  holden  the  power  and  glory  of  Spain  so  cheap 
That  he  dared  her  with  one  little  ship  and  his  English  few; 
Was  he  devil  or  man?     He  was  devil  for  aught  they  knew, 
But  they  sank  his  body  with  honor  down  into  the  deep, 
And    they   mann'd   the   Revenge  with    a    swarthier   alien 
crew,  no 

And  away  she  sail'd  with  her  loss  and  long'd  for  her  own; 
When  a  wind  from  the  lands  they  had  ruin'd  awoke  from 

sleep, 
And  the  water  began  to  heave  and  the  weather  to  moan, 
And  or  ever  that  evening  ended  a  great  gale  blew, 
And  a  wave  like  the  wave  that   is   raised  by  an   earth- 
quake grew,  ns 
Till  it  smote  on  their  hulls  and  their  sails  and  their  masts 

and  their  flags, 
And  the  whole  sea  plunged  and  fell  on  the  shot-shatter' d 

navy  of  Spain, 
And  the  little  Revenge  herself  went  down  by  the  island 

crags 
To  be  lost  evermore  in  the  main. 


119.  Which  of  the  following  adjectives  and  phrases  may  properly 
be  applied  to  this  poem  :  slow,  simple  in  rhythm,  complex  in  rhythm,  swift, 
rushing,  impetuous,  swinging,  heroic,  stirring,  pretty,  dramatic,  pleasing, 
thrilling? 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR  45 


THE   LOSS   OF  THE  BIRKENHEAD 

supposed  to  be  narrated  by  a  soldier  who  survived 

Sir  Francis  Hastings  Doyle 

Right  on  our  flank  the  crimson  sun  went  down, 

The  deep  sea  rolled  around  in  dark  repose, 
When,  like  the  wild  shriek  from  some  captured  town, 
A  cry  of  women  rose. 

The  stout  ship  Birkenhead  lay  hard  and  fast,  5 

Caught,  without  hope,  upon  a  hidden  rock; 
Her  timbers  thrilled  as  nerves,  when  through  them  passed 
The  spirit  of  that  shock. 

And  ever  like  base  cowards,  who  leave  their  ranks 

In  danger's  hour,  before  the  rush  of  steel,  10 

Drifted  away,  disorderly,  the  planks 
From  underneath  her  keel. 

Confusion  spread,  for,  though  the  coast  seemed  near, 

Sharks  hovered  thick  along  that  white  sea-brink. 
The  boats  could  hold?  —  not  all;  and  it  was  clear  15 

She  was  about  to  sink. 

"Out  with  those  boats,  and  let  us  haste  away," 

Cried  one,  "ere  yet  yon  sea  the  bark  devours." 
The  man  thus  clamoring  was,  I  scarce  need  say, 

No  officer  of  ours.  20 

We  knew  our  duty  better  than  to  care 

For  such  loose  babblers,  and  made  no  reply, 
Till  our  good  colonel  gave  the  word,  and  there 
Formed  us  in  line  to  die. 


46  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

There  rose  no  murmur  from  the  ranks,  no  thought,  25 

By  shameful  strength,  unhonored  life  to  seek; 
Our  post  to  quit  we  were  not  trained,  nor  taught 
To  trample  down  the  weak. 

So  we  made  women  with  their  children  go, 

The  oars  ply  back  again,  and  yet  again;  30 

Whilst,  inch  by  inch,  the  drowning  ship  sank  low, 
Still  under  steadfast  men. 

What  follows,  why  recall?     The  brave  who  died, 

Died  without  flinching  in  the  bloody  surf; 
They  sleep  as  well,  beneath  that  purple  tide,  35 

As  others,  under  turf;  — 

They  sleep  as  well,  and,  roused  from  their  wild  grave, 

Wearing  their  wounds  like  stars,  shall  rise  again, 
Joint-heirs  with  Christ,  because  they  bled  to  save 

His  weak  ones,  not  in  vain.  40 

If  that  day's  work  no  clasp  or  medal  mark, 

If  each  proud  heart  no  cross  of  bronze  may  press, 
Nor  cannon  thunder  loud  from  Tower  and  Park, 
This  feel  we,  none  the  less : 

That  those  whom  God's  high  grace  there  saved  from  ill  —  45 

Those  also,  left  His  martyrs  in  the  bay  — 
Though  not  by  siege,  though  not  in  battle,  still 
Full  well  have  earned  their  pay. 


43.  London  Tower  and  Hyde  Park. 

Is  the  diction  of  this  poem  plainer,  or  more  elaborate,  than  that  of  Tenny- 
son's The  Revenge  ?  Note  the  short  closing  line  of  each  stanza.  Exam- 
ine each  to  see  whether  some  emphatic  thought  is  thus  expressed,  or  whether 
the  line  is  a  mere  "  tag  "  to  the  stanza.  Is  the  poem  calm  in  tone  ?  Should 
its  tone  have  been  other  than  it  is  ? 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR 


47 


SOLDIER  AND   SAILOR  TOO  « 
Rudyard  Kipling 

.  .  .  They  came  of  our  lot,  they  was  brothers  to  us;  they 

was  beggars  we'd  met  and  knew; 
Yes,  barrin'  an  inch  in  the  chest  and  the  arms,  they  was 

doubles  o'  me  and  you; 
For  they  weren't  no  special  chrysanthemums  —  soldier  an' 

sailor  too ! 

.  .  .   We're  most  of  us  liars,  we're  'arf  of  us  thieves,  an'  the 

rest  are  as  rank  as  can  be, 
But  once  in  a  while  we  can  finish  in  style  (which  I  'ope 

it  won't 'appen  to  me).  5 

But  it  makes  you  think  better  o'  you  an'  your  friends,  an' 

the  work  you  may  'ave  to  do, 
When  you  think  o'  the  sinkin'  Victorier's  Jollies  —  soldier 

an'  sailor  too ! 
Now  there  isn't  no  room  for  to  say  ye  don't  know  —  they 

'ave  proved  it  plain  and  true  — 
That  whether  it's  Widow,  or  whether  it's  ship,  Victorier's 

work  is  to  do. 
An'   they  done   it,    the  Jollies  —  'Er  Majesty's  Jollies  — 

soldier  and  sailor  too.  10 


1  From  The  Seven  Seas,  Copyright,  1896,  by  Rudyard  Kipling.  Quoted 
by  special  permission  of  the  author  and  of  the  publishers,  D.  Appleton  and 
Co. 


48  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


MIDSHIPMAN   LANYON1 

Theodore  Watts-Dunton 

"  Midshipman  Lanyon  refused  to  leave  the  Admiral  and  perished."  — 
Times,  June  30,  1893. 

Our  tears  are  tears  of  pride  who  see  thee  stand, 
Watching  the  great  bows  dip,  the  stern  uprear, 
Beside  thy  chief,  whose  hope  was  still  to  steer, 

Though  Fate  had  said,  "  Ye  shall  not  win  the  land  ! " 

What  joy  was  thine  to  answer  each  command  5 

From  him  calamity  had  made  more  dear, 
Save  that  which  bade  thee  part  when  Death  drew  near, 

Till  Tryon  sank  with  Lanyon  at  his  hand ! 

Death  only  and  doom  are  sure :  they  come,  they  rend, 
But  still  the  fight  we  make  can  crown  us  great :  10 

Life  hath  no  joy  like  his  who  fights  with  Fate 

Shoulder  to  shoulder  with  a  stricken  friend : 
Proud  are  our  tears  for  thee,  most  fortunate, 

Whose  day,  so  brief,  had  such  heroic  end. 


1  Reprinted  from  "The  Coming  of  Love,  and  Other  Poems,"  by  permis- 
sion of  Mr.  John  Lane. 

How  many  lines  has  this  poem?  Notice  the  curious  rhyme-scheme: 
stand  uprear  steer  land,  command  dear  near  hand;  rend  great  fate, 
friend  fortunate  end.  Express  it  thus :  abba,  abba;  cdd,  cdc.  A 
poem  of  fourteen  lines  rhyming  thus  is  called  a  sonnet.  A  sonnet  may 
rhyme  in  several  other  ways,  but  must  consist  of  fourteen  lines.  Notice 
that  the  first  eight  lines  are  really  complete  in  themselves  (telling  the 
story)  ;  the  first  eight  lines  of  a  typical  sonnet  are  called  the  octave.  Notice 
that  the  last  six  lines  are  in  a  sense  complete  in  themselves  (dealing  with 
a  general  thought  suggested  by  Lanyon's  fate)  ;  the  last  six  lines  of  a 
typical  sonnet  are  called  the  sestet. 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR  49 

THE  DRUMS   OF   THE   FORE  AND   AFT1 

Rudyard  Kipling 

In  the  Army  List  they  still  stand  as  "  The  Fore  and  Fit 
Princess  Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen-Auspach's  Merthyr- 
Tydfilshire  Own  Royal  Loyal  Light  Infantry,  Regimental 
District  329 A,"  but  the  Army  through  all  its  barracks  and 
canteens  knows  them  now  as  the  "  Fore  and  Aft."  They  5 
may  in  time  do  something  that  shall  make  their  new  title 
honorable,  but  at  present  they  are  bitterly  ashamed,  and 
the  man  who  calls  them  "  Fore  and  Aft "  does  so  at  the 
risk  of  the  head  which  is  on  his  shoulders. 

Two  words  breathed  into  the  stables  of  a  certain  Cav-  10 
airy  Regiment  will  bring  the  men  out  into  the  streets  with 
belts  and  mops  and  bad  language  j  but  a  whisper  of  "  Fore 
and  Aft "  will  bring  out  this  regiment  with  rifles. 

Their  one  excuse  is  that  they  came  again  and  did  their 
best  to  finish  the  job  in  style.  But  for  a  time  all  their  15 
world  knows  that  they  were  openly  beaten,  whipped, 
dumb-cowed,  shaking,  and  afraid.  The  men  know  it; 
their  officers  know  it ;  the  Horse  Guards  know  it,  and 
when  the  next  war  comes  the  enemy  will  know  it  also. 
There  are  two  or  three  regiments  of  the  Line  that  have  20 
a  black  mark  against  their  name  which  they  will  then 
wipe  out;  and  it  will  be  excessively  inconvenient  for 
the  troops  upon  whom  they  do  their  wiping. 

The  courage  of  the  British  soldier  is  officially  supposed 
to  be  above  proof,  and,  as  a  general  rule,  it  is  so.      The  25 

1  Mr.  Kipling's  style  is  somewhat  elliptical,  that  is,  takes  a  good  deal  of 
knowledge  on  the  reader's  part  for  granted;  hence  it  must  be  read  slowly. 
The  necessity  of  abridging  the  piece  somewhat  (and  of  omitting  here  and 
there  rough  expressions  of  army  life)  makes  it  no  easier  for  the  reader  to 
keep  the  thread  of  the  story. 
E 


50 


STUDY   OF  LITERATURE 


exceptions  are  decently  shovelled  out  of  sight,  only  to  be 
referred  to  in  the  freshest  of  unguarded  talk  that  occa- 
sionally swamps  a  Mess-table  at  midnight.  Then  one 
hears  strange  and  horrible  stories  of  men  not  following 
their  officers,  of  orders  being  given  by  those  who  had  no  3° 
right  to  give  them,  and  of  disgrace  that,  but  for  the  stand- 
ing luck  of  the  British  Army,  might  have  ended  in  brilliant 
disaster.  These  are  unpleasant  stories  to  listen  to,  and 
the  Messes  tell  them  under  their  breath,  sitting  by  the  big 
wood  fires;  and  the  young  officer  bows  his  head  and  35 
thinks  to  himself,  please  God,  his  men  shall  never  behave 
unhandily. 

The  British  soldier  is  not  altogether  to  be  blamed  for 
occasional  lapses;  but  this  verdict  he  should  not  know. 
A  moderately  intelligent  General  will  waste  six  months  40 
in  mastering  the  craft  of  the  particular  war  that  he  may 
be  waging;  a  Colonel  may  utterly  misunderstand  the 
capacity  of  his  regiment  for  three  months  after  it  has 
taken  the  field;  and  even  a  Company  Commander  may 
err  and  be  deceived  as  to  the  temper  and  temperament  45 
of  his  own  handful :  wherefore  the  soldier,  and  the  soldier 
of  to-day  more  particularly,  should  not  be  blamed  for 
falling  back.  He  should  be  shot  or  hanged  afterwards 
—  to  encourage  the  others;  but  he  should  not  be  vilified 
in  newspapers,  for  that  is  want  of  tact  and  waste  of  space.  5° 

He  has,  let  us  say,  been  in  the  service  of  the  Empress 
for,  perhaps,  four  years.  He  will  leave  in  another  two 
years.  He  has  no  inherited  morals,  and  four  years  are 
not  sufficient  to  drive  toughness  into  his  fibre,  or  to  teach 
him  how  holy  a  thing  is  his  Regiment.  He  wants  to  55 
drink,  he  wants  to  enjoy  himself  —  in  India  he  wants  to 
save  money  —  and  he  does  not  in  the  least  like  getting 
hurt.  He  has  received  just  sufficient  education  to  make 
him  understand  half  the  purport  of  the  orders  he  receives, 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR  ijj 

and  to  speculate  on  the  nature  of  clean,  incised,  and  60 
shattering  wounds.  Thus,  if  he  is  told  to  deploy  under 
fire  preparatory  to  an  attack,  he  knows  that  he  runs  a 
very  great  risk  ot  being  killed  while  he  is  deploying,  and 
suspects  that  he  is  being  thrown  away  to  gain  ten  min- 
utes' time.  He  may  either  deploy  with  desperate  swift-  65 
ness,  or  he  may  shuffle,  or  bunch,  or  break,  according 
to  the  discipline  under  which  he  has  lain  for  four  years. 

Armed  with  imperfect  knowledge,  cursed  with  the 
rudiments  of  an  imagination,  hampered  by  the  intense 
selfishness  of  the  lower  classes,  and  unsupported  by  any  70 
regimental  associations,  this  young  man  is  suddenly  in- 
troduced to  an  enemy  who  in  eastern  lands  is  always 
ugly,  generally  tall  and  hairy,  and  frequently  noisy.  If 
he  looks  to  the  right  and  the  left  and  sees  old  soldiers 
—  men  of  twelve  years'  service,  who,  he  knows,  know  75 
what  they  are  about  —  taking  a  charge,  rush,  or  demon- 
stration without  embarrassment,  he  is  consoled  and 
applies  his  shoulder  to  the  butt  of  his  rifle  with  a  stout 
heart.  His  peace  is  the  greater  if  he  hears  a  senior, 
who  has  taught  him  his  soldiering  and  broken  his  head  80 
on  occasion,  whispering:  "They'll  shout  and  carry  on 
like  this  for  five  minutes.  Then  they'll  rush  in,  and 
then  we've  got  'em  by  the  short  hairs! " 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  sees  only  men  of  his 
own  term  of  service,  turning  white  and  playing  with  85 
their  triggers  and  saying,  "What's  up  now?"  while  the 
Company  Commanders  are  sweating  into  their  sword- 
hilts  and  shouting :  "  Front-rank,  fix  bayonets.  Steady 
there  —  steady !  Sight  for  three  hundred  —  no,  for  five ! 
Lie  down,  all!  Steady!  Front-rank,  kneel!"  and  so  90 
forth,  he  becomes  unhappy;  and  grows  acutely  miserable 
when  he  hears  a  comrade  turn  over  with  the  rattle  of 
fire-irons  falling  into  the  fender,  and  the  grunt  of  a 


52 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


pole-axed  ox.  If  he  can  be  moved  about  a  little  and 
allowed  to  watch  the  effect  of  his  own  fire  on  the  enemy  95 
he  feels  merrier,  and  may  be  then  worked  up  to  the 
blind  passion  of  fighting,  which  is,  contrary  to  general 
belief,  controlled  by  a  chilly  Devil  and  shakes  men  like 
ague.  If  he  is  not  moved  about,  and  begins  to  feel  cold 
at  the  pit  of  the  stomach,  and  in  that  crisis  is  badly  100 
mauled  and  hears  orders  that  were  never  given,  he  will 
break,  and  he  will  break  badly;  and  of  all  things  under 
the  light  of  the  Sun  there  is  nothing  more  terrible  than 
a  broken  British  regiment.  When  the  worst  comes  to 
the  worst  and  the  panic  is  really  epidemic,  the  men  must  105 
be  e'en  let  go,  and  the  Company  Commanders  had 
better  escape  to  the  enemy  and  stay  there  for  safety's 
sake.  If  they  can  be  made  to  come  again  they  are  not 
pleasant  men  to  meet;  because  they  will  not  break  twice. 

About  thirty  years  from  this  date,  when  we  have  sue-  no 
ceeded  in  half-educating  everything  that  wears  trousers, 
our  Army  will  be  a  beautifully  unreliable  machine.     It 
will  know  too  much  and  it  will  do  too  little.     Later 
still,  when  all  men  are  at  the  mental  level  of  the  officer 
of  to-day,  it  will  sweep  the  earth.     Speaking  roughly,  nS 
you  must  employ  either  blackguards  or  gentlemen,  or, 
best  of  all,  blackguards  commanded  by  gentlemen,  to 
do  butcher's  work  with  efficiency  and  despatch.     The 
ideal  soldier  should,  of  course,  think  for  himself  —  the 
Pocket-book  says  so.     Unfortunately,  to  attain  this  virtue  120 
he  has  to  pass  through  the  phrase  of  thinking  of  himself, 
and  that  is  misdirected  genius.     A  blackguard  may  be 
slow  to  think  for  himself,  but  he  is  genuinely  anxious  to 
kill,  and  a  little  punishment  teaches  him  how  to  guard 
his  own  skin  and  perforate  another's.      A  powerfully  125 
prayerful  Highland  Regiment,  officered  by  rank  Presby- 
terians, is,  perhaps,  one  degree  more  terrible  in  action 


THE  HEROISM   OF   WAR 


53 


than  a  hard-bitted  thousand  of  irresponsible  Irish  ruffians 
led  by  most  improper  young  unbelievers.     But  these 
things  prove  the  rule  —  which  is  that  the  midway  men  130 
are  not  to  be  trusted  alone.     They  have  ideas  about  the 
value  of  life  and  an  up-bringing  that  has  not  taught  them 
to  go  on  and  take  the  chances.     They  are  carefully  un- 
provided with  a  backing  of  comrades  who  have  been  shot 
over,  and  until  that  backing  is  re- introduced,  as  a  great  135 
many  Regimental  Commanders  intend  it  shall  be,  they 
are  more  liable  to  disgrace  themselves  than  the  size  of 
the  Empire  or  the  dignity  of  the  Army  allows.     Their 
officers  are  as  good  as  good  can  be,  because  their  train- 
ing begins  early,  and  God  has  arranged  that  a  clean-run  140 
youth  of  the  British  middle  classes  shall,  in  the  matter 
of  backbone  and  brains,  surpass  all  other  youths.     For 
this  reason  a  child  of  eighteen  will  stand  up,  doing 
nothing,  with  a  tin  sword  in  his  hand  and  joy  in  his 
heart  until  he  is  dropped.     If  he  dies,  he  dies  like  a  145 
gentleman.     If  he  lives,  he  writes  Home  that  he  has 
been  "potted,"  "sniped,"  "chipped,"  or  "cut  over," 
and   sits   down  to  besiege   Government  for  a  wound- 
gratuity  until  the  next  little  war  breaks  out,  when  he 
perjures  himself  before  a  Medical  Board,  blarneys  his  150 
Colonel,    burns    incense   round   his   Adjutant,    and   is 
allowed  to  go  to  the  Front  once  more. 

Which  homily  brings  me  directly  to  a  brace  of  the 
most  finished  little  fiends  that  ever  banged  drum  or 
tootled  fife  in  the  Band  of  a  British  Regiment.  They  155 
ended  their  sinful  career  by  open  and  flagrant  mutiny 
and  were  shot  for  it.  Their  names  were  Jakin  and  Lew 
—  Piggy  Lew  —  and  they  were  bold,  bad  drummer-boys, 
both  of  them  frequently  birched  by  the  Drum-Major  of 
the  Fore  and  Aft.  160 

Jakin  was  a  stunted  child  of  fourteen,  and  Lew  was 


54 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


about  the  same  age.  When  not  looked  after,  they 
smoked  and  drank.  They  swore  habitually  after  the 
manner  of  the  Barrack-room,  which  is  cold-swearing  and 
comes  from  between  clinched  teeth;  and  they  fought  165 
religiously  once  a  week.  Jakin  had  sprung  from  some 
London  gutter,  and  may  or  may  not  have  passed  through 
Dr.  Barnardo's  hands  ere  he  arrived  at  the  dignity  of 
drummer-boy.  Lew  could  remember  nothing  except  the 
Regiment  and  the  delight  of  listening  to  the  Band  from  170 
his  earliest  years.  He  hid  somewhere  in  his  grimy  little 
soul  a  genuine  love  for  music,  and  was  most  mistakenly 
furnished  with  the  head  of  a  cherub:  insomuch  that 
beautiful  ladies  who  watched  the  Regiment  in  church 
were  wont  to  speak  of  him  as  a  "darling."  They  never  175 
heard  his  vitriolic  comments  on  their  manners  and 
morals,  as  he  walked  back  to  barracks  with  the  Band  and 
matured  fresh  causes  of  offence  against  Jakin. 

The  other  drummer-boys  hated  both  lads  on  account 
of  their  illogical  conduct.  Jakin  might  be  pounding  180 
Lew,  or  Lew  be  rubbing  Jakin' s  head  in  the  dirt,  but 
any  attempt  at  aggression  on  the  part  of  an  outsider  was 
met  by  the  combined  forces  of  Lew  and  Jakin;  and  the 
consequences  were  painful.  The  boys  were  the  Ishmaels 
of  the  corps,  but  wealthy  Ishmaels,  for  they  sold  battles  185 
in  alternate  weeks  for  the  sport  of  the  barracks  when 
they  were  not  pitted  against  other  boys;  and  thus  amassed 
money. 

On  this  particular  day  there  was  dissension  in  the 
camp.  They  had  just  been  convicted  afresh  of  smoking,  190 
which  is  bad  for  little  boys  who  use  plug-tobacco,  and 
Lew's  contention  was  that  Jakin  had  "stunk  so  'orrid 
bad  from  keepin'  the  pipe  in  pocket,"  that  he  and  he 
alone  was  responsible  for  the  birching  they  were  both 
tingling  under.   .   .  .     They  [the  regiment]  wanted  to  go  195 


THE  HEROISM   OF   WAR 


55 


to  the  Front  —  they  were  enthusiastically  anxious  to  go 
—  but  they  had  no  knowledge  of  what  war  meant,  and 
there  was  none  to  tell  them.  They  were  an  educated 
regiment,  the  percentage  of  school-certificates  in  their 
ranks  was  high,  and  most  of  the  men  could  do  more  than  200 
read  and  write.  They  had  been  recruited  in  loyal  ob- 
servance of  the  territorial  idea;  but  they  themselves  had 
no  notion  of  that  idea.  They  were  made  up  of  drafts 
from  an  over-populated  manufacturing  district.  The 
system  had  put  flesh  and  muscle  upon  their  small  bones,  205 
but  it  could  not  put  heart  into  the  sons  of  those  who  for 
generations  had  done  over-much  work  for  over-scanty 
pay,  had  sweated  in  drying-rooms,  stooped  over  looms, 
coughed  among  white-lead,  and  shivered  on  lime-barges. 
The  men  had  found  food  and  rest  in  the  Army,  and  now  210 
they  were  going  to  fight  "niggers"  —  people  who  ran 
away  if  you  shook  a  stick  at  them.  Wherefore  they 
cheered  lustily  when  the  rumor  ran,  and  the  shrewd, 
clerkly,  non-commissioned  officers  speculated  on  the 
chances  of  battle  and  of  saving  their  pay.  At  Head-  215 
quarters  men  said :  "  The  Fore  and  Fit  have  never  been 
under  fire  within  the  last  generation.  Let  us,  therefore, 
break  them  in  easily  by  setting  them  to  guard  lines  of 
communication."  And  this  would  have  been  done  but 
for  the  fact  that  British  Regiments  were  wanted  —  badly  220 
wanted  —  at  the  Front,  and  there  were  doubtful  Native 
Regiments  that  could  fill  the  minor  duties.  "Brigade 
'em  with  two  strong  Regiments,"  said  Headquarters. 
"They  may  be  knocked  about  a  bit,  though  they'll  learn 
their  business  before  they  come  through.  Nothing  like  225 
a  night-alarm  and  a  little  cutting  up  of  stragglers  to 
make  a  Regiment  smart  in  the  field.  Wait  till  they've 
had  half-a-dozen  sentries'  throats  cut." 

The  Colonel  wrote  with  delight  that  the  temper  of  his 


56 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


men  was  excellent,  that  the  Regiment  was  all  that  could  230 
be  wished  and  as  sound  as  a  bell.  The  Majors  smiled 
with  a  sober  joy,  and  the  subalterns  waltzed  in  pairs 
down  the  Mess-room  after  dinner,  and  nearly  shot  them- 
selves at  revolver-practice.  But  there  was  consternation 
in  the  hearts  of  J  akin  and  Lew.  What  was  to  be  done  235 
with  the  Drums?  Would  the  Band  go  to  the  Front? 
How  many  of  the  Drums  would  accompany  the  Regi- 
ment? 

They  took  counsel  together,  sitting  in  a  tree  and 
smoking.  240 

"It's  more  than  a  bloomin'  toss-up  they'll  leave  us 
be'ind  at  the  Depot  with  the  women.  You'll  like  that," 
said  Jakin,  sarcastically. 

"'Cause  o'  Cris,  y'  mean?     Wot's  a  woman,  or  a 
'ole  bloomin'  depot  o'  women,  'longside  o'  the  chanst245 
of  field-service?     You  know  I'm  as  keen  on  goin'  as 
you,"  said  Lew. 

"Wish  I  was  a  bloomin'  bugler,"  said  Jakin,  sadly. 
"They'll  take  Tom  Kidd  along,  that  I  can  plaster  a  wall 
with,  an'  like  as  not  they  won't  take  us."  250 

"Then  let's  go  an'  make  Tom  Kidd  so  bloomin'  sick 
'e  can't  bugle  no  more.  You  'old  'is  'ands  an'  I'll  kick 
him,"  said  Lew,  wriggling  on  the  branch. 

"That  ain't  no  good  neither.  We  ain't  the  sort  o' 
characters  to  presoom  on  our  rep'tations  —  they're  bad.  255 
If  they  leave  the  Band  at  the  Depot  we  don't  go,  and  no 
error  there.  If  they  take  the  Band  we  may  get  cast  for 
medical  unfitness.  Are  you  medical  fit,  Piggy?"  said 
Jakin,  digging  Lew  in  the  ribs  with  force. 

"Yus,"  said  Lew  with  an  oath.     "The  Doctor  says  260 
your  'eart's  weak  through  smokin'  on  an  empty  stum- 
mick.     Throw  a  chest  an'  I'll  try  yer." 

Jakin  threw  out  his  chest,  which  Lew  smote  with  all 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR  57 

his   might.     Jakin  turned  very  pale,   gasped,   crowed, 
screwed  up  his  eyes,  and  said  —  "That's  all  right."  263 

"You'll  do,"  said  Lew.     "I've  'eard  o'  men  dyin' 
when  you  'it  'em  fair  on  the  breastbone." 

"Don't  bring  us  no  nearer  goin',  though,"  said  Jakin. 
"Do  you  know  where  we're  ordered? " 

"  Somewheres  up  to  the  Front  to  kill  Paythans  —  hairy  270 
big  beggars  that  turn  you  inside  out  if  they  get  'old  o' 
you." 

"Any  loot?"  asked  the  abandoned  Jakin. 

"Not  a  bloomin'  anna,  they  say,  unless  you  dig  up 
the  ground  an'  see  what  the  niggers  'ave  'id.     They're  275 
a  poor  lot."     Jakin  stood  upright  on  the  branch  and 
gazed  across  the  plain. 

"  Lew,"  said  he,  "  there's  the  Colonel  coming.    'Colo- 
nel's a  good  old  beggar.     Let's  go  an'  talk  to  'im." 

Lew  nearly  fell  out  of  the  tree  at  the  audacity  of  the  280 
suggestion.     Like  Jakin  he  feared  not  God,  neither  re- 
garded he  Man,  but  there  are  limits  even  to  the  audacity 
of  a  drummer-boy,  and  to  speak  to  a  Colonel  was  — 

But  Jakin  had  slid  down  the  trunk  and  doubled  in  the 
direction  of  the  Colonel.  That  officer  was  walking  285 
wrapped  in  thought  and  visions  of  a  C.B.1  —  yes,  even 
a  K.C.B.,  for  had  he  not  at  command  one  of  the  best 
Regiments  of  the  Line  —  the  Fore  and  Fit?  And  he 
was  aware  of  two  small  boys  charging  down  upon  him. 
Once  before  it  had  been  solemnly  reported  to  him  that  290 
"the  Drums  were  in  a  state  of  mutiny,"  Jakin  and  Lew 
being  the  ringleaders.  This  looked  like  an  organized 
conspiracy. 

The  boys  halted  at  twenty  yards,  walked  to  the  regu- 

1  C.  B.,  Companion  of  the  Bath;  K.  C.  B.,  Knight  Commander  of  the 
Bath  —  two  titles  much  prized  as  rewards  of  distinguished  service  in  the 
British  army. 


58  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

lation  four  paces,  and  saluted  together,  each  as  well-set-  295 
up  as  a  ramrod  and  little  taller. 

The  Colonel  was  in  a  genial  mood;  the  boys  appeared 
very  forlorn  and  unprotected  on  the  desolate  plain,  and 
one  of  them  was  handsome. 

"Well!"  said  the  Colonel,  recognizing  them.     "Are  300 
you  going  to  pull  me  down  in  the  open?     I'm  sure  I 
never   interfere  with  you,   even   though"  —  he   sniffed 
suspiciously  —  "you  have  been  smoking." 

It  was  time  to  strike  while  the  iron  was  hot.  Their 
hearts  beat  tumultuously.  305 

"Beg  y'  pardon,  Sir,"  began  Jakin.  "The  Reg'- 
ment's  ordered  on  active  service,  Sir?" 

"So  I  believe,"  said  the  Colonel,  courteously. 

"Is  the  Band  goin',  Sir?  "  said  both  together.  Then, 
without  pause,  "We're  goin',  Sir,  ain't  we?"  310 

"You!"  said  the  Colonel,  stepping  back  the  more 
fully  to  take  in  the  two  small  figures.  "You!  You'd 
die  in  the  first  march." 

"No,   we  wouldn't,   Sir.      We  can  march  with  the 
Reg'ment  anywheres  —  p'rade  an'  anywhere  else,"  said  315 
Jakin. 

"If  Tom  Kidd  goes  'e'll  shut  up  like  a  clasp-knife," 
said  Lew.  "Tom  'as  very-close  veins1  in  both  'is  legs, 
Sir." 

"  Very  how  much  ?  "  32° 

"Very-close  veins,  Sir.  That's  why  they  swells  after 
long  p'rade,  Sir.     If  'e  can  go,  we  can  go,  Sir." 

Again  the  Colonel  looked  at  them  long  and  intently. 

"Yes,  the  Band  is  going,"  he  said  as  gravely  as  though 
he  had  been  addressing  a  brother  officer.     "  Have  you  325 
any  parents,  either  of  you  two?  " 

"No,  Sir,"  rejoicingly  from  Lew  and  Jakin.     "We're 

1  Lew  means  varicose,  i.e.  swollen. 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR  $g 

both  orphans,  Sir.     There's  no  one  to  be  considered  of 
on  our  account,  Sir." 

"You  poor  little  sprats,  and  you  want  to  go  up  to  the  330 
Front  with  the  Regiment,  do  you?     Why?" 

"I've  wore  the  Queen's  Uniform  for  two  years,"  said 
Jakin.  "It's  very  'ard,  Sir,  that  a  man  don't  get  no 
recompense  for  doin'  of  'is  dooty,  Sir." 

"An'  — an'  if  I  don't  go,  Sir,"  interrupted  Lew,  "the  335 
Bandmaster    'e   says  'e'll  catch  an'   make  a  bloo  —  a 
blessed   musician   o'    me,   Sir.     Before  I've  seen  any 
service,  Sir." 

The  Colonel  made  no  answer  for  a  long  time.     Then 
he  said  quietly:    "If   you're   passed  by  the  Doctor  I  340 
daresay  you  can  go.     I  shouldn't  smoke  if  I  were  you." 

The   boys   saluted   and  disappeared.      The  Colonel 
walked  home  and  told  the  story  to  his  wife,  who  nearly 
cried  over  it.     The  Colonel  was  well  pleased.     If  that 
was  the  temper  of  the  children,  what  would  not  the  345 
men  do? 

Jakin  and  Lew  entered  the  boys'  barrack-room  with 
great  stateliness,  and  refused  to  hold  any  conversation 
with  their  comrades  for  at  least  ten  minutes.  Then, 
bursting  with  pride,  Jakin  drawled :  "  I've  bin  intervooin'  35° 
the  Colonel.  Good  old  beggar  is  the  Colonel.  Says  I 
to  'im,  'Colonel,'  says  I,  'let  me  go  to  the  Front,  along 
o'  the  Reg'ment.'  —  'To  the  Front  you  shall  go,'  says 
'e,  'an'  I  only  wish  there  was  more  like  you  among  the 
dirty  little  devils  that  bang  the  bloomin'  drums. '  Kidd,  355 
if  you  throw  your  'courtrements1  at  me  for  tellin'  you 
the  truth  to  your  own  advantage,  your  legs' 11  swell."  .  .   . 

Public  feeling  among  the  drummer-boys  rose  to  fever 
pitch  and  the  lives  of  Jakin  and  Lew  became  unenviable. 
Not  only  had  they  been  permitted  to  enlist  two  years  360 

1  Accoutrements. 


60  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

before  the  regulation  boy's  age  —  fourteen  —  but,  by 
virtue,  it  seemed,  of  their  extreme  youth,  they  were  al- 
lowed to  go  to  the  Front  —  which  thing  had  not  happened 
to  acting-drummers  within  the  knowledge  of  boy.  The 
Band  which  was  to  accompany  the  Regiment  had  been  365 
cut  down  to  the  regulation  twenty  men,  the  surplus  re- 
turning to  the  ranks.  Jakin  and  Lew  were  attached  to 
the  Band  as  supernumeraries,  though  they  would  much 
have  preferred  being  Company  buglers. 

"'Don't  matter  much,"  said  Jakin  after  the  medical 370 
inspection.     "Be  thankful  that  we're  'lowed  to  go  at 
all.     The  Doctor  'e  said  that  if  we  could  stand  what  we 
took  from  the  Bazar-Sergeant's  son  we'd  stand  pretty 
nigh  anything." 

"Which  we  will,"  said  Lew,  looking  tenderly  at  the  375 
ragged  and  ill-made   housewife   that  Cris  [the  Color- 
Sergeant's  little  girl]  had  given  him,  with  a  lock  of  her 
hair  worked  into  a  sprawling  "L"  upon  the  cover. 

"It  was  the  best  I  could,"  she  sobbed.     "I  wouldn't 
let  mother  nor  the  Sergeants'  tailor  'elp  me.     Keep  it  380 
always,  Piggy,  an'  remember  I  love  you  true." 

They  marched  to  the  railway  station,  nine  hundred 
and  sixty  strong,  and  every  soul  in  cantonments  turned 
out  to  see  them  go.  The  drummers  gnashed  their  teeth 
at  Jakin  and  Lew  marching  with  the  Band,  the  married  385 
women  wept  upon  the  platform,  and  the  Regiment 
cheered  its  noble  self  black  in  the  face. 

"A  nice  level  lot,"  said  the  Colonel  to  the  Second-in- 
Command  as  they  watched  the  first  four  companies 
entraining.  39° 

"Fit  to  do  anything,"  said  the  Second-in-Command, 
enthusiastically.  "But  it  seems  to  me  they're  a  thought 
too  young  and  tender  for  the  work  in  hand.  It's  bitter 
cold  up  at  the  Front  now." 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR  6 1 

"They're  sound  enough,"   said  the  Colonel.      "We  395 
must  take  our  chance  of  sick  casualties." 

So  they  went  northward,  ever  northward,  past  droves 
and  droves  of  camels,  armies  of  camp  followers,  and 
legions  of  laden  mules,  the  throng  thickening  day  by 
day,  till  with  a  shriek  the  train  pulled  up  at  a  hopelessly  400 
congested  junction  where  six  lines  of  temporary  track 
accommodated  six  forty-wagon  trains;  where  whistles 
blew,  Babus  sweated,  and  Commissariat  officers  swore 
from  dawn  till  far  into  the  night  amid  the  wind-driven 
chaff  of  the  fodder-bales  and  the  lowing  of  a  thousand  405 
steers. 

"Hurry  up  —  you're  badly  wanted  at  the  Front,"  was 
the  message  that  greeted  the  Fore  and  Aft,  and  the 
occupants  of  the  Red  Cross  carriages  told  the  same  tale. 

"'Tisn't  so  much  the  bloomin'  fightin',"  gasped  a  410 
trooper  of  Hussars  to  a  knot  of  admiring  Fore  and  Afts. 
"'Tisn't  so  much  the  bloomin'  fightin',  though  there's 
enough  o'  that.  It's  the  bloomin'  food  an'  the  bloomin' 
climate.  Frost  all  night  'cept  when  it  hails,  and  biling 
sun  all  day,  and  the  water  stinks  fit  to  knock  you  down.  4*5 
I  got  my  'ead  chipped  like  a  egg;  I've  got  pneumonia 
too.  'Tain't  no  bloomin'  picnic  in  those  parts,  I  can 
tell  you." 

"Wot  are  the  niggers  like?  "  demanded  a  private. 

"There's  some  prisoners  in  that  train  yonder.     Go  420 
an'  look  at  'em.     They're  the  aristocracy  o'  the  country. 
The  common  folk  are  a  sight  uglier.     If  you  want  to 
know  what  they  fight  with,  reach  under  my  seat  an'  pull 
out  the  long  knife  that's  there." 

They  dragged  out  and  beheld  for  the  first  time  the  425 
grim,   bone-handled,   triangular  Afghan  knife.     It  was 
almost  as  long  as  Lew. 

"That's  the  thing  to  jintye,"  said  the  trooper,  feebly. 


62  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

"It  can  take  off  a  man's  arm  at  the  shoulder  as  easy  as 
slicing  butter.     I  halved  the  beggar  that  used  that  'un,  430 
but  there's  more  of  his  likes  up  above." 

The  men  strolled  across  the  tracks  to  inspect  the 
Afghan  prisoners.  They  were  unlike  any  "niggers" 
that  the  Fore  and  Aft  had  ever  met  —  these  huge,  black- 
haired,  scowling  sons  of  the  Beni-Israel.  As  the  men  435 
stared,  the  Afghans  spat  freely  and  muttered  one  to 
another  with  lowered  eyes. 

"My  eyes!  Wot  awful  swine!  "  said  Jakin,  who  was 
in  the  rear  of  the  procession.  The  tallest  of  the  -com- 
pany turned,  his  leg- irons  clanking  at  the  movement,  440 
and  stared  at  the  boy.  "See! "  he  cried  to  his  fellows 
in  Pushto.  "They  send  children  against  us.  What  a 
people,  and  what  fools ! " 

"Hya/"  said  Jakin,  nodding  his  head  cheerily.   .  .  . 
Good-by,    ole    man.       Take    care   o'    your    beautiful  445 
figure- 'ed." 

The  men  laughed  and  fell  in  for  their  first  march, 
when  they  began  to  realize  that  a  soldier's  life  was  not  ' 
all  beer  and  skittles.     They  were  much  impressed  with 
the  size  and  bestial  ferocity  of  the  niggers  whom  they  450 
had  now  learned  to  call   "Paythans,"  and  more  with 
the  exceeding  discomfort  of  their  own   surroundings. 
Twenty  old  soldiers  in  the  corps  would  have  taught  them 
how  to  make  themselves  moderately  snug  at  night,  but 
they  had  no  old  soldiers,  and,  as  the  troops  on  the  line  455 
of  march  said,  "they  lived  like  pigs."  .   .   . 

At  the  end  of  their  third  march  they  were  disagreeably 
surprised  by  the  arrival  in  their  camp  of  a  hammered 
iron  slug  which,  fired  from  a  steady  rest  at  seven  hundred 
yards,  flicked  out  the  brains  of  a  private  seated  by  the  460 
fire.  This  robbed  them  of  their  peace  for  a  night,  and 
was  the  beginning  of  a  long-range  fire  carefully  calcu- 


THE  HEROISM   OF   WAR 


63 


lated  to  that  end.  In  the  daytime  they  saw  nothing  ex- 
cept an  unpleasant  puff  of  smoke  from  a  crag  above  the 
line  of  march.  At  night  there  were  distant  spurts  of  465 
flame  and  occasional  casualties,  which  set  the  whole 
camp  blazing  into  the  gloom  and,  occasionally,  into 
opposite  tents.  Then  they  swore  vehemently  and  vowed 
that  this  was  magnificent,  but  not  war. 

Indeed  it  was  not.     The  Regiment  could  not  halt  for  470 
reprisals  against  the  sharpshooters  of  the  country-side. 
Its  duty  was  to  go  forward  and  make  connection  with 
the  Scotch  and  Gurkha  troops  with  which  it  was  brigaded. 
The  Afghans  knew  this,  and  knew  too,  after  their  first 
tentative  shots,  that  they  were  dealing  with  a  raw  regi-  475 
ment.     Thereafter  they  devoted  themselves  to  the  task 
of  keeping  the  Fore  and  Aft  on  the  strain.     Not  for 
anything  would  they  have  taken  equal  liberties  with  a 
seasoned  corps  —  with  the  wicked  little  Gurkhas,  whose 
delight  it  was  to  lie  out  in  the  open  on  a  dark  night  and  480 
stalk  their  stalkers,  — with  the  terrible  big  men  dressed 
in  women's  clothes,  who  could  be  heard  praying  to  their 
God  in  the  night-watches,  and  whose  peace  of  mind  no 
amount  of  "sniping"  could  shake;  —  or  with  those  vile 
Sikhs,  who  marched  so  ostentatiously  unprepared  and  485 
who  dealt  out  such  grim  reward  to  those  who  tried  to 
profit  by  that  unpreparedness.     This  white  regiment  was 
different  —  quite  different.     It  slept  like  a  hog,  and, 
like  a  hog,   charged   in   every  direction  when   it  was 
roused.      Its  sentries  walked  with  a  footfall  that  could  490 
be  heard  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile;  would  fire  at  anything 
that  moved  —  even  a  driven  donkey  —  and  when  they 
had  once  fired,  could  be  scientifically  "rushed  "  and  laid 
out  a  horror  and  an  offence  against  the  morning  sun. 
Then  there  were  camp-followers  who  straggled  and  could  495 
be  cut  up  without  fear.     Their  shrieks  would  disturb  the 


64  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

white  boys,  and  the  loss  of  their  services  would  incon- 
venience them  sorely. 

Thus,  at  every  march,  the  hidden  enemy  became 
bolder  and  the  regiment  writhed  and  twisted  under  5°° 
attacks  it  could  not  avenge.  The  crowning  triumph 
was  a  sudden  night-rush  ending  in  the  cutting  of  many 
tent-ropes,  the  collapse  of  the  sodden  canvas,  and  a 
glorious  knifing  of  the  men  who  struggled  and  kicked 
below.  It  was  a  great  deed,  neatly  carried  out,  and  it  505 
shook  the  already  shaken  nerves  of  the  Fore  and  Aft. 
All  the  courage  that  they  had  been  required  to  exercise 
up  to  this  point  was  the  "two  o'clock  in  the  morning 
courage";  and,  so  far,  they  had  only  succeeded  in 
shooting  their  comrades  and  losing  their  sleep.  51° 

Sullen,  discontented,  cold,  savage,  sick,  with  their 
uniforms  dulled  and  unclean,  the  Fore  and  Aft  joined 
their  Brigade. 

"I  hear  you  had  a  tough  time  of  it  coming  up,"  said 
the  Brigadier.     But  when  he  saw  the  hospital-sheets  his  5X5 
face  fell. 

"This  is  bad,"  said  he  to  himself.  .  .  .  And  aloud 
to  the  Colonel  —  "I'm  afraid  we  can't  spare  you  just 
yet.  We  want  all  we  have,  else  I  should  have  given  you 
ten  days  to  recover  in."  520 

The  Colonel  winced.  "On  my  honor,  Sir,"  he  re- 
turned, "there  is  not  the  least  necessity  to  think  of 
sparing  us.  My  men  have  been  rather  mauled  and  upset 
without  a  fair  return.  They  only  want  to  go  in  some- 
where where  they  can  see  what's  before  them."  s25 

"  Can't  say  I  think  much  of  the  Fore  and  Fit,"  said  the 
Brigadier  in  confidence  to  his  Brigade-Major.  "They've 
lost  all  their  soldiering,  and,  by  the  trim  of  them,  might 
have  marched  through  the  country  from  the  other  side. 
A  more  fagged-out  set  of  men  I  never  put  eyes  on."         530 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR 


65 


"Oh,  they'll  improve  as  the  work  goes  on.  The 
parade  gloss  has  been  rubbed  off  a  little,  but  they'll  put 
on  field  polish  before  long,"  said  the  Brigade-Major. 
"They've  been  mauled,  and  they  don't  quite  understand 
it."  535 

They  did  not.  All  the  hitting  was  on  one  side,  and 
it  was  cruelly  hard  hitting,  with  accessories  that  made 
them  sick.  There  was  also  the  real  sickness  that  laid 
hold  of  a  strong  man  and  dragged  him  howling  to  the 
grave.  Worst  of  all,  their  officers  knew  just  as  little  of  54° 
the  country  as  the  men  themselves,  and  looked  as  if 
they  did.  The  Fore  and  Aft  were  in  a  thoroughly  un- 
satisfactory condition,  but  they  believed  that  all  would 
be  well  if  they  could  once  get  a  fair  go-in  at  the  enemy. 
Pot-shots  up  and  down  the  valleys  were  unsatisfactory,  545 
and  the  bayonet  never  seemed  to  get  a  chance.  Per- 
haps it  was  as  well,  for  a  long-limbed  Afghan  with  a 
knife  had  a  reach  of  eight  feet,  and  could  carry  away 
lead  that  would  disable  three  Englishmen. 

The  Fore  and  Fit  would  like  some  rifle-practice  at  550 
the  enemy  —  all  seven  hundred  rifles  blazing  together. 
That  wish  showed  the  mood  of  the  men. 

The  Gurkhas  walked  into  their  camp,  and  in  broken, 
barrack-room  English  strove  to  fraternize  with  them; 
offered  them  pipes  of  tobacco  and  stood  them  treat  at  555 
the  canteen.  But  the  Fore  and  Aft,  not  knowing  much 
of  the  nature  of  the  Gurkhas,  treated  them  as  they  would 
treat  any  other  "niggers,"  and  the  little  men  in  green 
trotted  back  to  their  firm  friends  the  Highlanders,  and 
with  many  grins  confided  to  them:  "That  white  regi- 560 
ment  no  use.  Sulky  —  ugh!  Dirty  —  ugh!  Hya,  any 
tot  for  Johnny?"  Whereat  the  Highlanders  smote  the 
Gurkhas  as  to  the  head,  and  told  them  not  to  vilify  a 
British  Regiment,  and  the  Gurkhas  grinned  cavernously, 


66  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

for  the  Highlanders  were  their  elder  brothers  and  en-  565 
titled  to  the  privileges  of  kinship.     The  common  soldier 
who  touches  a  Gurkha  is  more  than  likely  to  have  his 
head  sliced  open. 

Three  days  later  the  Brigadier  arranged  a  battle  ac- 
cording to  the  rules  of  war  and  the  peculiarity  of  the  570 
Afghan  temperament.  The  enemy  were  massing  in  in- 
convenient strength  among  the  hills,  and  the  moving  of 
many  green  standards  warned  him  that  the  tribes  were 
"  up  "  in  aid  of  the  Afghan  regular  troops.  A  squadron 
and  a  half  of  Bengal  Lancers  represented  the  available  575 
Cavalry,  and  two  screw-guns  borrowed  from  a  column 
thirty  miles  away  the  Artillery  at  the  General's  disposal. 

"  If  they  stand,  as  I've  a  very  strong  notion  that  they 
will,  I  fancy  we  shall  see  an  infantry  fight  that  will  be 
worth  watching,"  said   the  Brigadier.     "  We'll  do  it  in  580 
style.     Each  regiment  shall  be  played  into  action  by  its 
Band,  and  we'll  hold  the  Cavalry  in  reserve." 

"For  a// the  reserve?"  somebody  asked. 

"  For  all  the  reserve  ;  because  we're  going  to  crumple 
them  up,"  said  the  Brigadier,  who  was  an  extraordinary  585 
Brigadier,  and  did  not  believe  in  the  value  of  a  reserve 
when  dealing  with  Asiatics.  Indeed,  when  you  come 
to  think  of  it,  had  the  British  Army  consistently  waited 
for  reserves  in  all  its  little  affairs,  the  boundaries  of  Our 
Empire  would  have  stopped  at  Brighton  beach. 

That  battle  was  to  be  a  glorious  battle. 

The  three  regiments  debouching  from  three  separate 
gorges,  after  duly  crowning  the  heights  above,  were  to 
converge  from  the  centre,  left,  and  right  upon  what  we 
will  call  the  Afghan  army,  then  stationed  toward  the  595 
lower  extremity  of  a  flat-bottomed  valley.  Thus  it  will 
be  seen  that  three  sides  of  the  valley  practically  be- 
longed  to   the   English,   while   the   fourth   was   strictly 


THE  HEROISM   OF   WAR  67 

Afghan  property.     In  the  event  of  defeat  the  Afghans 
had   the  rocky  hills  to  fly  to,  where  the  fire  from  the  600 
guerilla  tribes  in  aid  would  cover  their  retreat.     In  the 
event  of  victory  these  same  tribes  would  rush  down  and 
lend  their  weight  to  the  rout  of  the  British. 

The  screw-guns  were  to  shell  the  head  of  each  Afghan 
rush  that  was  made  in  close  formation,  and  the  Cavalry,  605 
held  in  reserve  in  the  right  valley,  were  to  gently  stimu- 
late the  break-up  which  would  follow  on  the  combined 
attack.     The  Brigadier,  sitting  upon  a  rock  overlooking 
the  valley,  would  watch  the  battle  unrolled  at  his  feet. 
The  Fore  and  Aft  would  debouch  from  the  central  gorge,  610 
the  Gurkhas  from  the  left,  and  the  Highlanders  from 
the  right,  for  the  reason  that  the  left  flank  of  the  enemy 
seemed  as  though  it  required  the  most  hammering.     It 
was  not   every  day  that   an  Afghan   force  would  take 
ground  in  the  open,  and  the  Brigadier  was  resolved  to  615 
make  the  most  of  it. 

"  If  we  only  had  a  few  more  men,"  he  said  plain- 
tively, "we  could  surround  the  creatures  and  crumple 
'em  up  thoroughly.  As  it  is,  I'm  afraid  we  can  only 
cut  them  up  as  they  run.     It's  a  great  pity."  620 

The  Fore  and  Aft  had  enjoyed  unbroken  peace  for 
five  days,  and  were  beginning,  in  spite  of  dysentery,  to 
recover  their  nerve.  But  they  were  not  happy,  for  they 
did  not  know  the  work  in  hand,  and  had  they  known, 
would  not  have  known  how  to  do  it.  Throughout  those  625 
five  days  in  which  old  soldiers  might  have  taught  them 
the  craft  of  the  game,  they  discussed  together  their  mis- 
adventures in  the  past  —  how  such  an  one  was  alive  at 
dawn  and  dead  ere  the  dusk,  and  with  what  shrieks  and 
struggles  such  another  had  given  up  his  soul  under  the  630 
Afghan  knife.  Death  was  a  new  and  horrible  thing  to 
the  sons  of  mechanics  who  were  used  to  die  decently  of 


68  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

zymotic  disease;  and  their  careful  conservation  in  bar- 
racks had  done  nothing  to  make  them  look  upon  it  with 
less  dread.  635 

Very  early  in  the  dawn  the  bugles  began  to  blow,  and 
the  Fore  and  Aft,  filled  with  a  misguided  enthusiasm, 
turned  out  without  waiting  for  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  bis- 
cuit; and  were  rewarded  by  being  kept  under  arms  in 
the  cold  while  the  other  regiments  leisurely  prepared  for  640 
the  fray.  All  the  world  knows  that  it  is  ill  taking  the 
breeks  off  a  Highlander.  It  is  much  iller  to  try  to  make 
him  stir  unless  he  is  convinced  of  the  necessity  for  haste. 

The  Fore  and  Aft  waited,  leaning  upon  their  rifles 
and  listening  to  the  protests  of  their  empty  stomachs.  645 
The  Colonel  did  his  best  to  remedy  the  default  of  lining 
as  soon  as  it  was  borne  in  upon  him  that  the  affair  would 
not  begin  at  once,  and  so  well  did  he  succeed  that  the 
coffee  was  just  ready  when  —  the  men  moved  off,  their 
Band  leading.  Even  then  there  had  been  a  mistake  in  650 
time,  and  the  Fore  and  Aft  came  out  into  the  valley  ten 
minutes  before  the  proper  hour.  Their  Band  wheeled 
to  the  right  after  reaching  the  open,  and  retired  behind 
a  little  rocky  knoll,  still  playing  while  the  regiment  went 
past.  655 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  sight  that  opened  on  the  unin- 
structed  view,  for  the  lower  end  of  the  valley  appeared 
to  be  filled  by  an  army  in  position  —  real  and  actual 
regiments  attired  in  red  coats,  and  —  of  this  there  was 
no  doubt  —  firing  Martini-Henry  bullets  which  cut  up  660 
the  ground  a  hundred  yards  in  front  of  the  leading  com- 
pany. Over  that  pock-marked  ground  the  regiment  had 
to  pass,  and  it  opened  the  ball  with  a  general  and  pro- 
found courtesy  to  the  piping  pickets;  ducking  in  perfect 
time,  as  though  it  had  been  brazed  on  a  rod.  Being  665 
half-capable  of  thinking  for  itself,  it  fired  a  volley  by  the 


THE  HEROISM  OF  WAR 


69 


simple  process  of  pitching  its  rifle  into  its  shoulder  and 
pulling  the  trigger.  The  bullets  may  have  accounted  for 
some  of  the  watchers  on  the  hillside,  but  they  certainly 
did  not  affect  the  mass  of  enemy  in  front,  while  the  670 
noise  of  the  rifles  drowned  any  orders  that  might  have 
been  given.   .  .  . 

The  Fore  and  Aft  continued  to  go  forward,  but  with 
shortened  stride.  Where  were  the  other  regiments,  and 
why  did  these  niggers  use  Martinis?  They  took  open  675 
order  instinctively,  lying  down  and  firing  at  random, 
rushing  a  few  paces  forward  and  lying  down  again,  ac- 
cording to  the  regulations.  Once  in  this  formation, 
each  man  felt  himself  desperately  alone,  and  edged  in 
toward  his  fellow  for  comfort's  sake.  680 

Then  the  crack  of  his  neighbor's  rifle  at  his  ear  led 
him  to  fire  as  rapidly  as  he  could  —  again  for  the  sake 
of  the  comfort  of  the  noise.  The  reward  was  not  long 
delayed.  Five  volleys  plunged  the  files  in  banked  smoke 
impenetrable  to  the  eye,  and  the  bullets  began  to  take  685 
ground  twenty  or  thirty  yards  in  front  of  the  firers,  as 
the  weight  of  the  bayonet  dragged  down  and  to  the  right 
arms  wearied  with  holding  the  kick  of  the  leaping  Mar- 
tini. The  Company  Commanders  peered  helplessly 
through  the  smoke,  the  more  nervous  mechanically  trying  690 
to  fan  it  away  with  their  helmets. 

"  High  and  to  the  left !  "  bawled  a  Captain  till  he  was 
hoarse.  "  No  good !  Cease  firing,  and  let  it  drift  away 
a  bit." 

Three  and  four  times  the  bugles  shrieked  the  order,  695 
and  when  it  was  obeyed  the  Fore  and  Aft  looked  that 
their  foe  should  be  lying  before  them  in  mown  swaths  of 
men.  A  light  wind  drove  the  smoke  to  leeward,  and 
showed  the  enemy  still  in  position  and  apparently 
unaffected.     A   quarter   of    a   ton   of    lead   had   been  700 


70 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


buried  a  furlong  in  front  of  them,  as  the  ragged  earth 
attested. 

That  was  not  demoralizing  to  the  Afghans,  who  have 
not  European  nerves.  They  were  waiting  for  the  mad 
riot  to  die  down,  and  were  firing  quietly  into  the  heart  705 
of  the  smoke.  A  private  of  the  Fore  and  Aft  spun  up 
his  company  shrieking  with  agony,  another  was  kicking 
the  earth  and  gasping,  and  a  third  .  .  .  was  calling 
aloud  on  his  comrades  to  put  him  out  of  his  pain. 
These  were  the  casualties,  and  they  were  not  soothing  710 
to  hear  or  see.     The  smoke  cleared  to  a  dull  haze. 

Then  the  foe  began  to  shout  with  a  great  shouting, 
and  a  mass  —  a  black  mass  —  detached  itself  from  the 
main  body,  and  rolled  over  the  ground  at  horrid  speed. 
It  was  composed  of,  perhaps,  three  hundred  men,  who  715 
would  shout  and  fire  and  slash  if  the  rush  of  their  fifty 
comrades  who  were  determined  to  die  carried  home. 
The  fifty  were  Ghazis,  half-maddened  with  drugs  and 
wholly  mad  with  religious  fanaticism.  When  they 
rushed  the  British  fire  ceased,  and  in  the  lull  the  order  720 
was  given  to  close  ranks  and  meet  them  with  the 
bayonet. 

Any  one  who  knew  the  business  could  have  told  the 
Fore  and  Aft  that  the  only  way  of  dealing  with  a  Ghazi 
rush  is  by  volleys  at  long  ranges;  because  a  man  who  725 
means  to  die,  who  desires  to  die,  who  will  gain  heaven 
by  dying,  must,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  kill  a  man  who 
has  a  lingering  prejudice  in  favor  of  life.  Where  they 
should  have  closed  and  gone  forward,  the  Fore  and  Aft 
opened  out  and  skirmished,  and  where  they  should  have  73o 
opened  out  and  fired,  they  closed  and  waited. 

A  man  dragged  from  his  blankets  half  awake  and 
unfed  is  never  in  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind.  Nor  does 
his  happiness  increase  when  he  watches  the  whites  of 


THE  HEROISM   OF   WAR 


71 


the  eyes  of  three  hundred  six-foot  fiends  upon  whose  735 
beards  the  foam  is  lying,  upon  whose  tongues  is  a  roar 
of  wrath,  and  in  whose  hands  are  yard-long  knives. 

The  Fore  and  Aft  heard  the  Gurkha  bugles  bringing 
that  regiment  forward  at  the  double,  while  the  neighing 
of  the  Highland  pipes  came  from  the  left.  They  strove  740 
to  stay  where  they  were,  though  the  bayonets  wavered 
down  the  line  like  the  oars  of  a  ragged  boat.  Then  they 
felt  body  to  body  the  amazing  physical  strength  of  their 
foes;  a  shriek  of  pain  ended  the  rush,  and  the  knives 
fell  amid  scenes  not  to  be  told.  The  men  clubbed  745 
together  and  smote  blindly  —  as  often  as  not  at  their 
own  fellows.  Their  front  crumpled  like  paper,  and  the 
fifty  Ghazis  passed  on;  their  backers,  now  drunk  with 
success,  fighting  as  madly  as  they. 

Then  the  rear-ranks  were  bidden  to  close  up,  and  the  750 
subalterns  dashed  into  the  stew  —  alone.  For  the  rear- 
rank  had  heard  the  clamor  in  front,  the  yells  and  the 
howls  of  pain,  and  had  seen  the  dark  stale  blood  that 
makes  afraid.  They  were  not  going  to  stay.  It  was  the 
rushing  of  the  camps  over  again.   ...  755 

"Come  on  !  "  shrieked  the  subalterns,  and  their  men, 
cursing  them,  drew  back,  each  closing  into  his  neighbor 
and  wheeling  round. 

Charteris  and  Devlin,  subalterns  of  the  last  company, 
faced  their  death  alone  in  the  belief  that  their  men  760 
would  follow. 

"You've  killed  me,  you  cowards,"  sobbed  Devlin  and 
dropped,  cut  from  the  shoulder-strap  to  the  centre  of 
the  chest,  and  a  fresh  detachment  of  his  men  retreating, 
always  retreating,  trampled  him  under  foot  as  they  made  765 
for  the  pass  whence  they  had  emerged.   .   .   . 

The  Gurkhas  were  pouring  through  the  left  gorge  and 
over  the  heights  at  the  double  to  the  invitation  of  their 


72  STUDY   OF  LITERATURE 

Regimental  Quick-step.     The  black  rocks  were  crowned 
with   dark  green   spiders   as   the   bugles  gave    tongue  77o 
jubilantly:  — 

In  the  morning !     In  the  morning  by  the  bright  light ! 
When  Gabriel  blows  his  trumpet  in  the  morning ! 

The  Gurkha  rear-companies  tripped  and  blundered 
over  loose  stones.  The  front-files  halted  for  a  moment  775 
to  take  stock  of  the  valley  and  to  settle  stray  boot-laces. 
Then  a  happy  little  sigh  of  contentment  soughed  down 
the  ranks,  and  it  was  as  though  the  land  smiled,  for 
behold  there  below  was  the  enemy,  and  it  was  to  meet 
them  that  the  Gurkhas  had  doubled  so  hastily.  There  780 
was  much  enemy.  There  would  be  amusement.  The 
little  men  hitched  their  kukris  well  to  hand,  and  gaped 
expectantly  at  their  officers  as  terriers  grin  ere  the 
stone  is  cast  for  them  to  fetch.  The  Gurkhas'  ground 
sloped  downward  to  the  valley,  and  they  enjoyed  a  fair  785 
view  of  the  proceedings.  They  sat  upon  the  boulders 
to  watch,  for  their  officers  were  not  going  to  waste  their 
wind  in  assisting  to  repulse  a  Ghazi  rush  more  than  half 
a  mile  away.  Let  the  white  men  look  to  their  own 
front.   ...  79° 

Horrified,  amused,  and  indignant,  the  Gurkhas  beheld 
the  retirement  of  the  Fore  and  Aft  with  a  running  chorus 
of  oaths  and  commentaries. 

"They  run!     The  white  men  run!     Colonel  Sahib,1 
may  we  also  do  a  little  running?"   murmured  Runbir79s 
Thappa,  the  Senior  Jemadar. 

But  the  Colonel  would  have  none  of  it.  "Let  the 
beggars  be  cut  up  a  little,"  said  he,  wrathfully. 
"  'Serves  'em  right.     They'll   be  prodded  into  facing 

1  Sahib  is  a  Hindoo  form  of  respectful  address  —  "  Master."  ,  j 


THE  HEROISM  OF  WAR 


n 


round   in  a  minute."     He   looked   through   his   field- 800 
glasses,  and  caught  the  glint  of  an  officer's  sword. 

"Beating  'em  with  the  flat1!    How  the  Ghazis  are 
walking  into  them !  "  said  he. 

The  Fore  and  Aft,  heading  back,  bore  with  them  their 
officers.     The  narrowness  of  the  pass  forced  the  mob  805 
into  solid  formation,  and  the  rear-rank  delivered  some 
sort  of  a  wavering  volley.     The  Ghazis  drew  off,  for  they 
did   not   know  what   reserves   the   gorge   might   hide. 
Moreover,  it  was  never  wise  to  chase  white  men  too  far. 
They  returned  as  wolves  return  to  cover,  satisfied  with  810 
the  slaughter  that  they,  had  done,  and  only  stopping  to 
slash  at  the  wounded  on  the  ground.     A  quarter  of  a 
mile  had  the  Fore  and  Aft  retreated,  and  now,  jammed 
in  the  pass,  was  quivering  with  pain,  shaken  and  de- 
moralized with  fear,  while  the  officers,  maddened  beyond  815 
control,  smote  the  men  with  the  hilts  and  the  flats  of 
their  swords. 

"Get  back!  Get  back,  you  cowards  —  you  women! 
Right  about  face  —  column  of  companies,  form  —  you 
hounds !  "  shouted  the  Colonel,  and  the  subalterns  swore  820 
aloud.  But  the  Regiment  wanted  to  go  —  to  go  any- 
where out  of  the  range  of  those  merciless  knives.  It 
swayed  to  and  fro  irresolutely  with  shouts  and  outcries, 
while  from  the  right  the  Gurkhas  dropped  volley  after 
volley  of  cripple-stopper  Snider  bullets  at  long  range  into  825 
the  mob  of  the  Ghazis  returning  to  their  own  troops. 

The  Fore  and  Aft  Band,  though  protected  from  direct 
fire  by  the  rocky  knoll  under  which  it  had  sat  down,  fled 
at  the  first  rush.     Jakin  and  Lew  would  have  fled  also, 
but  their  short  legs  left  them  fifty  yards  in  the  rear,  and  830 
by  the  time  the  Band  had  mixed  with  the  regiment,  they 

1  Of  the  sword. 


74 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


were  painfully  aware  that  they  would  have  to  close  in 
alone  and  unsupported. 

"  Get  back  to  that  rock, "  gasped  Jakin.  "  They  won't 
see  us  there."  835 

And  they  returned  to  the  scattered  instruments  of  the 
Band,  their  hearts  nearly  bursting  their  ribs. 

"Here's  a  nice  show  for  us,"  said  Jakin,  throwing 
himself  full  length  on  the  ground.     "A  bloomin'  fine 
show  for  British  Infantry!     They've  gone  an'  left  us 840 
alone  here !     Wot' 11  we  do?  " 

Lew  took  possession  of  a  cast-off  water  bottle,  which 
naturally  was  full  of  canteen  rum,,  and  drank  till  he 
coughed  again. 

"Drink,"  said  he,  shortly.     "They'll  come  back  in  a 845 
minute  or  two  —  you  see." 

Jakin  drank,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  the  Regiment's 
return.  They  could  hear  a  dull  clamor  from  the  head 
of  the  valley  of  retreat,  and  saw  the  Ghazis  slink  back, 
quickening  their  pace  as  the  Gurkhas  fired  at  them.  850 

"We're  all  that's  left  of  the  Band,  an'  we'll  be  cut  up 
as  sure  as  death,"  said  Jakin. 

"I'll  die  game,  then,"  said  Lew,  thickly,  fumbling 
with  his  tiny  drummer's  sword.  The  drink  was  working 
on  his  brain  as  it  was  on  Jakin' s.  855 

"'Old  on!  I  know  something  better  than  fightin'," 
said  Jakin,  "  stung  by  the  splendor  of  a  sudden  thought " 
due  chiefly  to  rum.  "Tip  our  bloomin'  cowards  yonder 
the  word  to  come  back.  The  Paythan  beggars  are  well 
away.  Come  on,  Lew!  We  won't  get  hurt.  Take  the 860 
fife  and  give  me  the  drum.  .  .  .  There's  a  few  of  our 
men  coming  back  now.  Stand  up,  ye  drunken  little 
defaulter.     By  your  right  —  quick  march !  " 

He  slipped  the  drum-sling  over  his  shoulder,  thrust 
the  fife  into  Lew's  hand,  and  the  two  boys  marched  out  865 


THE  HEROISM   OF   WAR 


75 


of  the  cover  of  the  rock  into  the  open,  making  a  hideous 
hash  of  the  first  bars  of  the  British  Grenadiers. 

As  Jakin  had  said,  a  few  of  the  Fore  and  Aft  were 
coming  back  sullenly  and  shamefacedly  under  the  stimu- 
lus of  blows  and  abuse;  their  red  coats  shone  at  the  head  870 
of  the  valley,  and  behind  them  were  wavering  bayonets. 
But  between  this  shattered  line  and  the  enemy,  who  with 
Afghan  suspicion  feared  that  the  hasty  retreat  meant  an 
ambush,  and  had  not  moved  therefore,  lay  half  a  mile  of 
level  ground  dotted  only  by  the  wounded.  875 

The  tune  settled  into  full  swing  and  the  boys  kept  . 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  Jakin  banging  the  drum  as  one 
possessed.     The  one  fife  made  a  thin  and  pitiful  squeak- 
ing, but  the  tune  carried  far,  even  to  the  Gurkhas. 

"Come  on,  you  dogs!"  muttered  Jakin  to  himself.  880 
"Are  we  to  play  for  never?"     Lew  was  staring  straight 
in  front  of  him  and  marching  more  stiffly  than  ever  he 
had  done  on  parade. 

And  in  bitter  mockery  of  the  distant  mob,  the  old  tune 
of  the  Old  Line  shrilled  and  rattled :  —  885 

Some  talk  of  Alexander, 

And  some  of  Hercules; 
Of  Hector  and  Lysander, 

And  such  great  names  as  these  ! 

There  was  a  far-off  clapping  of  hands  from  the  Gurkhas,  890 
and  a  roar  from  the  Highlanders  in  the  distance,  but 
never  a  shot  was  fired  by  British  or  Afghan.     The  two 
little  red  dots  moved  forward  in  the  open  parallel  to  the 
enemy's  front. 

But  of  all  the  world's  great  heroes  895 

There's  none  that  can  compare, 
With  a  tow-row-row-row-row-row, 

To  the  British  Grenadier  ! 


76 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


The  men  of  the  Fore  and  Aft  were  gathering  thick  at 
the  entrance  to  the  plain.     The  Brigadier  on  the  heights  900 
far  above  was  speechless  with  rage.     Still  no  movement 
from  the  enemy.     The  day  stayed  to  watch  the  children. 

Jakin  halted  and  beat  the  long  roll  of  the  Assembly, 
while  the  fife  squealed  despairingly. 

"Right  about  face!     Hold  up,  Lew,  you're  drunk," 905 
said  Jakin.     They  wheeled  and  marched  back :  — 

Those  heroes  of  antiquity 

Ne'er  saw  a  cannon-ball, 
Nor  knew  the  force  o'  powder, 

"  Here  they  come !  "  said  Jakin.     "  Go  on,  Lew  " :  —  910 

To  scare  their  foes  withal ! 

The  Fore  and  Aft  were  pouring  out  of  the  valley. 
What  officers  had  said  to  men  in  that  time  of  shame  and 
humiliation  will  never  be  known;  for  neither  officers 
nor  men  speak  of  it  now.  915 

"  They  are  coming  anew !  "  shouted  a  priest  among  the 
Afghans.  "  Do  not  kill  the  boys !  Take  them  alive  and 
they  shall  be  of  our  faith." 

But  the  first  volley  had  been  fired,  and  Lew  dropped 
on  his  face.     Jakin  stood  for  a  minute,  spun  round  and  920 
collapsed,  as  the  Fore  and  Aft  came  forward,  the  curses 
of  their  officers  in  their  ears,  and  in  their  hearts  the 
shame  of  open  shame. 

Half  the  men  had  seen  the  drummers  die,  and  they 
made  no  sign.     They  did  not  even  shout.     They  doubled  925 
out  straight  across  the  plain  in  open  order,  and  they  did 
not  fire. 

"This,"  said  the  Colonel  of  Gurkhas,  softly,  "is  the 
real  attack,  as  it  should  have  been  delivered.  Come  on, 
my  children."  930 

"Ulu-lu-lu-lu!"    squealed   the    Gurkhas,    and   came 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR 


77 


down  with  a  joyful  clicking  of  kukris  —  those  vicious 
Gurkha  knives. 

On  the  right  there  was  no  rush.  The  Highlanders, 
cannily  commending  their  souls  to  God,  .  .  .  opened  935 
out  and  fired  according  to  their  custom,  that  is  to  say 
without  heat  and  without  intervals,  while  the  screw-guns, 
having  disposed  of  the  impertinent  mud  fort  aforemen- 
tioned, dropped  shell  after  shell  into  the  clusters  round 
the  flickering  green  standards  on  the  heights.  94o 

"Charrging  is  an  unfortunate  necessity,"  murmured 
the  Color-Sergeant  of  the  right  company  of  the  High- 
landers. "  It  makes  the  men  sweer  so,  but  I  am  thinkin' 
that  it  will  come  to  a  charrge  if  these  black  devils  stand 
much  longer.  Stewarrt,  man,  you're  firing  into  the  eye  945 
of  the  sun,  and  e'll  not  take  any  harm  for  Government 
ammuneetion.  A  foot  lower  and  a  great  deal  slower! 
What  are  the  English  doing?  They're  very  quiet  there 
in  the  centre.     Running  again?  " 

The  English  were  not  running.     They  were  hacking  950 
and  hewing  and  stabbing,  for  though  one  white  man  is 
seldom  physically  a  match  for  an  Afghan  in  a  sheepskin 
or   wadded   coat,    yet,    through   the   pressure  of  many 
white  men  behind,  and  a  certain  thirst  for  revenge  in 
his  heart,  he  becomes  capable  of  doing  much  with  both  955 
ends  of  his  rifle.     The  Fore  and  Aft  held  their  fire  till 
one  bullet  could  drive  through  five  or  six  men,  and  the 
front  of  the  Afghan  force  gave  on  the  volley.     They  then 
selected  their  men,  and  slew  them  with  deep  gasps  and 
short  hacking  coughs,   and  groanings  of  leather  belts  960 
against  strained  bodies,  and  realized  for  the  first  time 
that  an  Afghan  attacked  is  far  less  formidable  than  an 
Afghan  attacking:  which  fact  old  soldiers  might  have 
told  them. 

But  they  had  no  old  soldiers  in  their  ranks.   ...         965 


78 


STUDY   OF  LITERATURE 


As  the  Afghans  wavered,  the  green  standards  on  the 
mountain  moved  down  to  assist  them  in  a  last  rally. 
This  was  unwise.  The  Lancers  chafing  in  the  right  gorge 
had  thrice  despatched  their  only  subaltern  as  galloper  to 
report  on  the  progress  of  affairs.  On  the  third  occasion  970 
he  returned,  with  a  bullet-graze  on  his  knee,  swearing 
strange  oaths  in  Hindustani,  and  saying  that  all  things 
were  ready.  So  that  Squadron  swung  round  the  right  of 
the  Highlanders  with  a  wicked  whistling  of  wind  in  the 
pennons  of  its  lances,  and  fell  upon  the  remnant  just  97s 
when,  according  to  all  the  rules  of  war,  it  should  have 
waited  for  the  foe  to  show  more  signs  of  wavering. 

But  it  was  a  dainty  charge,  deftly  delivered,  and  it 
ended  by  the  Cavalry  finding  itself  at  the  head  of  the 
pass  by  which  the  Afghans  intended  to  retreat;  and  down  980 
the  track  that  the  lances  had  made  streamed  two  com- 
panies of  the  Highlanders,  which  was  never  intended  by 
the  Brigadier.  The  new  development  was  successful. 
It  detached  the  enemy  from  his  base  as  a  sponge  is  torn 
from  a  rock,  and  left  him  ringed  about  with  fire  in  that  985 
pitiless  plain.  And  as  a  sponge  is  chased  round  the 
bath-tub  by  the  hand  of  the  bather,  so  were  the  Afghans 
chased  till  they  broke  into  little  detachments  much  more 
difficult  to  dispose  of  than  large  masses. 

"See !  "  quoth  the  Brigadier.     " Everything  has  come  990 
as  I  arranged.     We've  cut  their  base,  and  now  we'll 
bucket  'em  to  pieces." 

A  direct  hammering  was  all  that  the  Brigadier  had 
dared  to  hope  for,  considering  the  size  of  the  force  at 
his  disposal ;  but  men  who  stand  or  fall  by  the  errors  of  995 
their  opponents  may  be  forgiven  for  turning  Chance  into 
Design.  The  bucketing  went  forward  merrily.  The 
Afghan  forces  were  upon  the  run  —  the  run  of  wearied 
wolves  who  snarl  and  bite  over  their  shoulders.     The 


THE  HEROISM   OF   WAR 


79 


red  lances  dipped  by  twos  and  threes,  and,  with  a  shriek,  iooo 
up  rose  the  lance-butt,  like  a  spar  on  a  stormy  sea,  as 
the  trooper  cantering  forward  cleared  his  point.     The 
Lancers  kept  between  their  prey  and  the  steep  hills,  for 
all  who  could  were  trying  to  escape  from  the  valley  of 
death.     The  Highlanders  gave  the  fugitives  two  hundred  1005 
yards'  law,  and  then  brought  them  down,  gasping  and 
choking   ere   they   could   reach  the  protection  of  the 
boulders  above.     The  Gurkhas  followed  suit;   but  the 
Fore  and  Aft  were  killing  on  their  own  account,  for  they 
had  penned  a  mass  of  men  between  their  bayonets  and  a  1010 
wall  of  rock,  and  the  flash  of  the  rifles  was  lighting  the 
wadded  coats. 

"We  cannot  hold  them,  Captain  Sahib!"  panted  a 
Ressaidar  of  Lancers.  "  Let  us  try  the  carbine.  The 
lance  is  good,  but  it  wastes  time."  1015 

They  tried  the  carbine,  and  still  the  enemy  melted 
away  —  fled  up  the  hills  by  hundreds  when  there  were 
only  twenty  bullets  to  stop  them.  On  the  heights  the 
screw-guns  ceased  firing  —  they  had  run  out  of  ammuni- 
tion —  and  the  Brigadier  groaned,  for  the  musketry  fire  1020 
could  not  sufficiently  smash  the  retreat.  Long  before 
the  last  volleys  were  fired,  the  doolies  were  out  in  force 
looking  for  the  wounded.  The  battle  was  over,  and,  but 
for  want  of  fresh  troops,  the  Afghans  would  have  been 
wiped  off  the  earth.  As  it  was  they  counted  their  dead  1025 
by  hundreds,  and  nowhere  were  the  dead  thicker  than 
in  the  track  of  the  Fore  and  Aft. 

But  the  Regiment  did  not  cheer  with  the  Highlanders, 
nor  did  they  dance  uncouth  dances  with  the  Gurkhas 
among  the  dead.     They  looked  under  their  brows  at  the  1030 
Colonel  as  they  leaned  upon  their  rifles  and  panted. 

"Get  back  to  camp,  you.  Haven't  you  disgraced 
yourself   enough   for   one   day!     Go   and    look   to  the 


80  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

wounded.  It's  all  you're  fit  for,"  said  the  Colonel. 
Yet  for  the  past  hour  the  Fore  and  Aft  had  been  doing  1035 
all  that  mortal  commander  could  expect.  They  had  lost 
heavily  because  they  did  not  know  how  to  set  about  their 
business  with  proper  skill,  but  they  had  borne  them- 
selves gallantly,  and  this  was  their  reward. 

A  young  and  sprightly  Color-Sergeant,  who  had  begun  1040 
to  imagine  himself  a  hero,  offered  his  water-bottle  to  a 
Highlander,  whose  tongue  was  black  with  thirst.  "I 
drink  with  no  cowards,"  answered  the  youngster,  huskily, 
and,  turning  to  a  Gurkha,  said,  "  Hya,  Johnny !  Drink 
water  got  it?"  The  Gurkha  grinned  and  passed  his  1045 
bottle.     The  Fore  and  Aft  said  no  word. 

They  went  back  to  camp  when  the  field  of  strife  had 
been  a  little  mopped  up  and  made  presentable,  and  the 
Brigadier,  who  saw  himself  a  Knight  in  three  months, 
was  the  only  soul  who  was  complimentary  to  them.  The  1050 
Colonel  was  heart-broken,  and  the  officers  were  savage 
and  sullen. 

"Well,"  said  the  Brigadier,  "they  are  young  troops  of 
course,  and  it  was  not  unnatural  that  they  should  retire 
in  disorder  for  a  bit."  1055 

"Oh,  my  only  Aunt  Maria!  "  murmured  a  junior  Staff 
Officer.     "  Retire  in  disorder !     It  was  a  bally  run ! " 

"But  they  came  again,  as  we  all  know,"  cooed  the 
Brigadier,  the  Colonel's  ashy- white  face  before  him, 
"  and  they  behaved  as  well  as  could  possibly  be  expected.  1060 
Behaved  beautifully,  indeed.  I  was  watching  them. 
It's  not  a  matter  to  take  to  heart,  Colonel.  As  some 
German  General  said  of  his  men,  they  wanted  to  be 
shooted  over  a  little,  that  was  all."  To  himself  he  said 
—  "Now  they're  blooded  I  can  give  'em  responsible  1065 
work.  It's  as  well  that  they  got  what  they  did.  'Teach 
'em  more  than  half  a  dozen  rifle  flirtations,   that  will 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR  ^ 

—  later  —  run  alone   and   bite.      Poor  old    Colonel, 
though." 

All  that  afternoon  the  heliograph  winked  and  flickered  1070 
on  the  hills,  striving  to  tell  the  good  news  to  a  mountain 
forty  miles  away.  And  in  the  evening  there  arrived, 
dusty,  sweating,  and  sore,  a  misguided  Correspondent, 
who  had  gone  out  to  assist  at  a  trumpery  village-burning, 
and  who  had  read  off  the  message  from  afar,  cursing  1075 
his  luck  the  while. 

"Let's  have  the  details  somehow  —  as  full  as  ever  you 
can,  please.  It's  the  first  time  I've  ever  been  left  this 
campaign,"  said  the  Correspondent  to  the  Brigadier; 
and  the  Brigadier,  nothing  loath,  told  him  how  an  Army  1080 
of  Communication  had  been  crumpled  up,  destroyed, 
and  all  but  annihilated,  by  the  craft,  strategy,  wisdom, 
and  foresight  of  the  Brigadier. 

But  some  say,  and  among  these  be  the  Gurkhas  who 
watched  on  the  hillside,  that  that  battle  was  won  by  1085 
Jakin  and  Lew,  whose  little  bodies  were  borne  up  just 
in  time  to  fit  two  gaps  at  the  head  of  the  big  ditch-grave 
for  the  dead  under  the  heights  of  Jagai. 

Are  the  drummer-boys  mere  types,  or  are  they  real  characters,  mixtures 
of  bad  and  good?  Read  over  the  General  Introduction,  §§  19,  20.  Describe 
their  personal  appearance  and  their  characters.  Is  the  story  powerful? 
graphic?  true  to  human  nature?  Would  it  have  been  a  better  story  if  the 
author  had  been  able  to  arouse  the  same  emotions  of  admiration  and  pity 
without  the  use  of  slang? 

INCIDENT  OF  THE   FRENCH   CAMP 

Robert  Browning 

You  know,  we  French  stormed  Ratisbon : 

A  mile  or  so  away, 
On  a  little  mound,  Napoleon 

Stood  on  our  storming-day; 

1.  The  metre  is  tetrameter.    Is  it  iambic  tetrameter,  or  trochaic  tetrameter  ? 
G 


82  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

With  neck  out-thrust,  you  fancy  how,  5 

Legs  wide,  arms  locked  behind, 
As  if  to  balance  the  prone  brow 

Oppressive  with  its  mind. 

Just  as  perhaps  he  mused  "  My  plans 

That  soar,  to  earth  may  fall,  10 

Let  once  my  army-leader  Lannes 

Waver  at  yonder  wall,"  — 
Out  'twixt  the  battery-smokes  there  flew 

A  rider,  bound  on  bound 
Full-galloping;  nor  bridle  drew  15 

Until  he  reached  the  mound. 

Then  off  there  flung  in  smiling  joy, 

And  held  himself  erect 
By  just  his  horse's  mane,  a  boy: 

You  hardly  could  suspect —  20 

(So  tight  he  kept  his  lips  compressed, 

Scarce  any  blood  came  through) 
You  looked  twice  ere  you  saw  his  breast 

Was  all  but  shot  in  two. 

"Well,"  cried  he,  "Emperor,  by  God's  grace  25 

We've  got  you  Ratisbon ! 
The  Marshal's  in  the  market-place, 

And  you'll  be  there  anon 
To  see  your  flag-bird  flap  his  vans 

Where  I,  to  heart's  desire,  30 

Perched  him!  "     The  chief's  eye  flashed;  his  plans 

Soared  up  again  like  fire. 


8.   Note  the  rhyme-scheme :  a  b  a  b,  cdcd. 


THE   HEROISM   OF   WAR  83 

The  chief's  eye  flashed;  but  presently 

Softened  itself,  as  sheathes 
A  film  the  mother-eagle's  eye  35 

When  her  bruised  eaglet  breathes; 
"You're  wounded !  "     "Nay,"  the  soldier's  pride 

Touched  to  the  quick,  he  said : 
"I'm  killed,  Sire!  "     And  his  chief  beside 

Smiling  the  boy  fell  dead.  40 


HERVE   RIEL 
Robert  Browning 


On  the  sea  and  at  the  Hogue,  sixteen  hundred  ninety-two, 

Did  the  English  fight  the  French,  —  woe  to  France ! 
And,  the  thirty-first  of  May,  helter-skelter  through  the  blue, 
Like  a  crowd  of  frightened  porpoises  a  shoal  of  sharks 
pursue, 
Came   crowding    ship   on   ship   to   Saint-Malo   on   the 
Ranee,  5 

With,  the  English  fleet  in  view. 


'Twas  the  squadron  that  escaped,  with  the  victor  in  full 
chase ; 
First  and  foremost  of  the  drove,  in  his  great  ship,  Dam- 
freville; 
Close  on  him  fled,  great  and  small, 
Twenty-two  good  ships  in  all;  10 

3.  Name  the  line  according  to  the  number  of  accents  and  the  kind  of 
foot.  Is  the  metre  rapid  or  slow  ?  4.  Note  that  which  is  understood  after 
porpoises.  9-12.  Is  there  any  reason  for  short  lines  ?  Compare  The  Re- 
venge. 


84  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

And  they  signalled  to  the  place 
"  Help  the  winners  of  a  race ! 

Get  us  guidance,  give  us  harbor,  take  us  quick  —  or, 
quicker  still, 

Here's  the  English  can  and  will! " 

in 

Then  the  pilots  of  the  place  put  out  brisk  and  leapt  on 

board;  15 

"Why,  what  hope  or  chance  have  ships  like  these  to 

pass  ?  "    laughed  they : 

"  Rocks  to  starboard,  rocks  to  port,  all  the  passage  scarred 

and  scored, — 
Shall  the  Formidable  here,  with  her  twelve  and  eighty  guns, 
Think  to  make  the  river-mouth  by  the  single  narrow  way, 
Trust  to  enter  —  where  'tis  ticklish  for  a  craft  of  twenty 
tons,  20 

And  with  flow  at  full  beside  ? 
Now,  'tis  slackest  ebb  of  tide. 
Reach  the  mooring?     Rather  say, 
While  rock  stands  or  water  runs, 

Not  a  ship  will  leave  the  bay ! "  25 

rv 

Then  was  called  a  council  straight. 

Brief  and  bitter  the  debate : 

"Here's  the  English  at  our  heels;  would  you  have  them 

take  in  tow 
All  that's  left  us  of  the  fleet,  linked  together  stern  and  bow, 
For  a  prize  to    Plymouth  Sound?      Better  run  the  ships 

aground !  "  30 

(Ended  Damfreville  his  speech). 

17.  That  is,  scarred  by   rocks. 


THE  HEROISM  OF  WAR 


85 


"Not  a  minute  more  to  wait! 

Let  the  captains  all  and  each 

Shove  ashore,   then  blow  up,   burn  the  vessels  on  the 
beach ! 
France  must  undergo  her  fate.  35 


"  Give  the  word ! "     But  no  such  word 

Was  ever  spoke  or  heard; 

For  up  stood,   for  out  stepped,   for  in  struck,  amid  all 

these  — 
A  captain?     A  lieutenant?     A  mate  —  first,  second,  third? 

No  such  man  of  mark,  and  meet  40 

With  his  betters  to  compete, 

But  a  simple  Breton  sailor,  pressed  by  Tourville  for  the 
fleet  — 
A  poor  coasting-pilot  he,  Herve  Riel  the  Croisickese. 

VI 

And,  "  What  mockery  or  malice  have  we  here  ?  "  cries  Herv6 
Riel: 
"Are  you  mad,  you  Malouins?    Are  you  cowards,  fools, 
or  rogues?  45 

Talk  to  me  of  rocks  and  shoals,  me  who  took  the  sound- 
ings, tell 
On  my  fingers  every  bank,  every  shallow,  every  swell 
'Twixt  the  offing  here  and  Greve,  where  the  river  dis- 
embogues ! 
Are  you  bought  by  English  gold?     Is  it  love  the  lying's  for? 
Morn  and  eve,  night  and  day  50 

Have  I  piloted  your  bay. 

42.  Pressed  means  impressed — forced  into  service.  43.  Croisickese 
means  an  inhabitant  of  Croisic,  a  little  seashore  town  in  the  north  of 
France,  where  Browning  spent  many  summers.  See  line  127.  48.  dis- 
embogues, a  rare  word  for  empties  ;  why  did  Browning  use  it  ? 


$6  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Entered  free  and  anchored  fast  at  the  foot  of  Solidor. 
Burn  the  fleet  and  ruin  France  ?    That  were  worse  than 
fifty  Hogues! 
Sirs,  they  know  I  speak  the  truth!    Sirs,  believe  me 
there's  a  way! 
Only  let  me  lead  the  line,  55 

Have  the  biggest  ship  to  steer, 
Get  this  Formidable  clear, 
Make  the  others  follow  mine, 

And  I  lead  them,  most  and  least,  by  a  passage  I  know  well, 
Right  to  Solidor,  past  Greve,  60 

And  there  lay  them  safe  and  sound; 
And  if  one  ship  misbehave,  — 
Keel  so  much  as  grate  the  ground, 
Why,  I've  nothing  but  my  life,  — here's  my  head!  "  cries 
Herv£  Riel. 

VII 

Not  a  minute  more  to  wait.  65 

"  Steer  us  in,  then,  small  and  great ! 

Take  the  helm,  lead  the  line,  save  the  squadron !  "  cried 
its  chief. 
Captains,  give  the  sailor  place ! 

He  is  Admiral,  in  brief. 
Still  the  north-wind,  by  God's  grace!  70 

See  the  noble  fellow's  face 
As  the  big  ship,  with  a  bound, 
Clears  the  entry  like  a  hound, 

Keeps  the  passage,  as  its  inch  of  way  were  the  wide  sea's 
profound ! 
See,  safe  thro'  shoal  and  rock,  75 

How  they  follow  in  a  flock, 
Not  a  ship  that  misbehaves,   not  a  keel  that  grates  the 
ground, 


THE   HEROISM   OF   WAR 


87 


Not  a  spar  that  comes  to  grief ! 
The  peril,  see,  is  past. 

All  are  harbored  to  the  last,  80 

And  just  as  Herv6  Riel  hollas  "Anchor! "  sure  as  fate, 
Up  the  English  come,  —  too  late ! 

VIII 

So,  the  storm  subsides  to  calm : 
They  see  the  green  trees  wave 

On  the  heights  o'erlooking  Greve.  85 

Hearts  that  bled  are  stanched  with  balm. 
"Just  our  rapture  to  enhance, 

Let  the  English  rake  the  bay, 
Gnash  their  teeth  and  glare  askance 

As  they  cannonade  away !  90 

'Neath  rampired  Solidor  pleasant  riding  on  the  Ranee!  " 
How  hope  succeeds  despair  on  each  captain's  countenance ! 
Out  burst  all  with  one  accord, 
"This  is  Paradise  for  Hell! 

Let  France,  let  France's  King  95 

Thank  the  man  that  did  the  thing !  " 
What  a  shout,  and  all  one  word, 

"HerVe"  Riel!" 
As  he  stepped  in  front  once  more, 

Not  a  symptom  of  surprise  100 

In  the  frank  blue  Breton  eyes  — 
Just  the  same  man  as  before. 

IX 

Then  said  Damfreville,  "  My  friend, 
I  must  speak  out  at  the  end, 

Though  I  find  the  speaking  hard.  105 

90.  Up  to  this  point,  which  has  received  the  most  pleasure  —  the  eye, 
the  ear,  or  the  muscular  sense  of  motion  ? 


88  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Praise  is  deeper  than  the  lips : 
You  have  saved  the  King  his  ships, 
You  must  name  your  own  reward. 
'Faith,  our  sun  was  near  eclipse! 

Demand  whate'er  you  will,  no 

France  remains  your  debtor  still. 

Ask  to  heart's  content  and  have !  or  my  name's  not  Dam- 
freville." 

x 

Then  a  beam  of  fun  outbroke 

On  the  bearded  mouth  that  spoke, 

As  the  honest  heart  laughed  through  115 

Those  frank  eyes  of  Breton  blue : 

"  Since  I  needs  must  say  my  say, 

Since  on  board  the  duty's  done  — 

And  from  Malo  Roads  to  Croisic  Point,  what  is  it  but  a 
run?  — 
Since  'tis  ask  and  have,  I  may —  120 

Since  the  others  go  ashore  — 
Come  !     A  good  whole  holiday! 

Leave  to  go  and  see  my  wife,  whom  I  call  the  Belle 
Aurore ! " 

That  he  asked  and  that  he  got  —  nothing  more. 

XI 

Name  and  deed  alike  are  lost :  125 

Not  a  pillar  nor  a  post 

In  his  Croisic  keeps  alive  the  feat  as  it  befell; 
Not  a  head  in  white  and  black 
On  a  single  fishing-smack, 
In  memory  of  the  man  but  for  whom  had  gone  to  wrack     130 

All  that  France  saved  from  the  fight  whence  England  bore 
the  bell. 

131.  "  Bearing  the  bell "  means  being  victorious.    The  allusion  is  to  the 
fact  that  little  bells  were  once  used  as  prizes  in  athletic  contests. 


THE  HEROISM  OF  WAR 


89 


Go  to  Paris :  rank  on  rank 

Search  the  heroes  flung  pell-mell 
On  the  Louvre,  face  and  flank ! 

You  shall  look  long  enough  ere  you  come  to  Herve'  Riel.  135 
So,  for  better  and  for  worse, 
Herv^  Riel,  accept  my  verse ! 
In  my  verse,  Herve  Riel,  do  thou  once  more 
Save  the  squadron,  honor  France,  love  thy  wife,  the  Belle 
Aurore ! 

132-134.  This  merely  means  that  there  are  thousands  of  portraits  of 
French  heroes  in  the  gallery  of  the  Louvre. 

Has  the  poem  unity  ?  climax  ?  clearness  ?  force  ?  Is  its  melody  injured 
by  any  harsh  sounds  ?    Specify. 

THE   DESERTER  FROM   THE  CAUSE 
Gerald  Massey 

He  is  gone :  better  so.     We  should  know  who  stand  under 

Our  banner :  let  none  but  the  trusty  remain ! 
For  there's  stern  work  at  hand,  and  the  time  comes  shall 
sunder 

The  shell  from  the  pearl,  and  the  chaff  from  the  grain. 
And  the  heart  that  through  danger  and  death  will  be  dutiful, 

Soul  that  with  Cranmer  in  fire  would  shake  hands,  6 

With  a  life  like  a  palace-home  built  for  the  beautiful, 

Freedom  of  all  her  beloved  demands. 

He  is  gone  from  us !     Yet  shall  we  march  on  victorious, 
Hearts  burning  like  beacons  —  eyes  fix'd  on  the  goal !    10 

And  if  we  fall  fighting,  we  fall  like  the  glorious, 
With  face  to  the  stars,  and  all  heaven  in  the  soul. 

1.  Name  the  line  according  to  number  of  accents.  Anapestic  or  dac- 
tyllic  metre  ?  What  kind  of  ending  ?  2.  What  kind  of  ending  ?  6.  Cran- 
mer, burnt  at  the  stake  by  Bloody  Mary  in  1556,  thrust  his  right  hand  into 
the  flames  and  let  it  burn  first,  because  it  had  signed  a  cowardly  recantation 
of  his  religious  beliefs. 


90 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


And  aye  for  the  brave  stir  of  battle  we'll  barter 

The  sword  of  life  sheath'd  in  the  peace  of  the  grave; 

And  better  the  fieriest  fate  of  the  martyr,  15 

Than  live  like  the  coward,  and  die  like  the  slave ! 


HEATHER  ALE:    A   GALLOWAY   LEGEND1 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

From  the  bonny  bells  of  heather 

They  brewed  a  drink  long-syne, 
Was  sweeter  far  than  honey, 

Was  stronger  far  than  wine. 
They  brewed  it  and  they  drank  it,  5 

And  lay  in  a  blessed  swound 
For  days  and  days  together 

In  their  dwellings  underground. 

There  rose  a  king  in  Scotland, 

A  fell  man  to  his  foes,  10 

He  smote  the  Picts  in  battle, 

He  hunted  them  like  roes. 
Over  miles  of  the  red  mountain 

He  hunted  as  they  fled, 
And  strewed  the  dwarfish  bodies  15 

Of  the  dying  and  the  dead. 

Summer  came  in  the  country, 

Red  was  the  heather  bell; 
But  the  manner  of  the  brewing 

Was  none  alive  to  tell.  20 

1  Reprinted  from  "  Ballads,"  by  permission  of  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 

1.  The  metre  is  normally  iambic,  as  appears  in  line  2;  but,  as  so  often 
happens  in  English,  we  have  many  substitutions  of  two  short  syllables  for 
one  long,  thus  :  FrSm  the  bonny  bells  67  heather.  8.  Might  this  stanza  be 
written  as  four  lines  ?     Would  it  be  as  pleasant  so  written  ? 


THE  HEROISM   OF-  WAR  gi 

In  graves  that  were  like  children's 

On  many  a  mountain  head, 
The  Brewsters  of  the  Heather 

Lay  numbered  with  the  dead. 

The  king  in  the  red  moorland  25 

Rode  on  a  summer's  day; 
And  the  bees  hummed,  and  the  curlews 

Cried  beside  the  way. 
The  king  rode,  and  was  angry; 

Black  was  his  brow  and  pale,  30 

To  rule  in  a  land  of  heather 

And  lack  the  Heather  Ale. 

It  fortuned  that  his  vassals, 

Riding  free  on  the  heath, 
Came  on  a  stone  that  was  fallen  35 

And  vermin  hid  beneath. 
Rudely  plucked  from  their  hiding, 

Never  a  word  they  spoke : 
A  son  and  his  aged  father  — 

Last  of  the  dwarfish  folk.  40 

The  king  sat  high  on  his  charger, 

He  looked  on  the  little  men; 
And  the  dwarfish  and  swarthy  couple 

Looked  at  the  king  again. 
Down  by  the  shore  he  had  them;  45 

And  there  on  the  giddy  brink  — 
"  I  will  give  you  life,  ye  vermin, 

For  the  secret  of  the  drink." 

There  stood  the  son  and  father 

And  they  looked  high  and  low;  5° 

The  heather  was  red  around  them, 

The  sea  rumbled  below. 


92 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

And  up  and  spoke  the  father, 

Shrill  was  his  voice  to  hear : 
"  I  have  a  word  in  private,  55 

A  word  for  the  royal  ear. 

"  Life  is  dear  to  the  aged, 

And  honor  a  little  thing; 
I  would  gladly  sell  the  secret," 

Quoth  the  Pict  to  the  king.  60 

His  voice  was  small  as  a  sparrow's, 

And  shrill  and  wonderful  clear: 
"  I  would  gladly  sell  my  secret, 

Only  my  son  I  fear. 

"  For  life  is  a  little  matter,  65 

And  death  is  naught  to  the  young; 
And  I  dare  not  sell  my  honor 

Under  the  eye  of  my  son. 
Take  him,  O  king,  and  bind  him, 

And  cast  him  far  in  the  deep;  70 

And  it's  I  will  tell  the  secret 

That  I  have  sworn  to  keep." 

They  took  the  son  and  bound  him, 

Neck  and  heels  in  a  thong, 
And  a  lad  took  him  and  swung  him,  75 

And  flung  him  far  and  strong, 
And  the  sea  swallowed  his  body, 

Like  that  of  a  child  of  ten;  — 
And  there  on  the  cliff  stood  the  father, 

Last  of  the  dwarfish  men.  80 

"  True  was  the  word  I  told  you : 

Only  my  son  I  feared ; 
For  I  doubt  the  sapling  courage 

That  goes  without  the  beard. 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR 


93 


But  now  in  vain  is  the  torture,  85 

Fire  shall  never  avail : 
Here  dies  in  my  bosom 

The  secret  of  Heather  Ale." 

What  colors  are  suggested  in  the  ballad  ?    Why  does  not  Stevenson 
linger  on  the  pictures  ? 


ADAM   OF  GORDON 

FOLK   BALLAD  -     - 

It  fell  about  the  Martinmas, 

When  the  wind  blew  shrill  and  cold, 

Said  Adam  of  Gordon  to  his  men, 
"  We  maun  draw  to  a  hold. 

"And  whatna  hold  shall  we  draw  to,  5 

My  merry  men  and  me? 
We  will  go  to  the  house  of  Rodes, 

To  see  that  fair  ladye." 

The  lady  stood  on  her  castle  wall; 

Beheld  both  dale  and  down;  10 

There  she  was  aware  of  a  host  of  men 

Came  riding  towards  the  town. 

"  O  see  ye  not,  my  merry  men  all, 

0  see  ye  not  what  I  see  ? 

Methinks  I  see  a  host  of  men :  15 

1  marvel  who  they  be." 

4.  maun  draw  to  a  hold,  must  proceed  to  a  stronghold.  8.  Iambic  or 
trochaic  ?  Do  accents  fall  on  the  syllables  accented  in  ordinary  speech  ? 
Does  not  the  folk  ballad  (see  p.  i)  seem  to  differ,  in  this  matter  of  the 
accent,  from  artificial,  written  poetry  ?  Can  you  see  any  reasons  why 
this  should  be  so  ?     12.  town,  the  castle. 


94  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

She  had  no  sooner  buskit  herself, 

And  putten  on  her  gown, 
Till  Adam  of  Gordon  and  his  men 

Were  round  about  the  town.  20 

The  lady  ran  to  her  tower-head, 

As  fast  as  she  could  hie, 
To  see  if  by  her  fair  speeches 

She  could  with  him  agree. 

"Give  o'er  your  house,  ye  lady  fair,  25 

Give  o'er  your  house  to  me ! 
Or  I  shall  burn  yourself  therein, 

But  and  your  babies  three." 

"I  winna  give  o'er,  ye  false  Gordon, 
To  no  sic  traitor  as  thee;  30 

And  if  ye  burn  my  ain  dear  babes, 
My  lord  shall  mak'  ye  dree. 

—  "  Woe  worth,  woe  worth  ye,  Jock,  my  man ; 
I  paid  ye  well  your  fee; 

Why  pull  ye  out  the  grund-wa'  stone,  35 

Lets  in  the  reek  to  me? 

"And  e'en  woe  worth  ye,  Jock,  my  man! 

I  paid  ye  well  your  hire; 
Why  pull  ye  out  the  grund-wa'  stone, 

To  me  lets  in  the  fire?  "  40 

—  "Ye  paid  me  well  my  hire,  ladye, 
Ye  paid  me  well  my  fee; 

But  now  I'm  Adam  of  Gordon's  man, — 
Must  either  do  or  dee." 

17.  buskit,  clad.    22.   In  the  Northern  pronunciation,  hie  rhymes  with 
agree  ;  cf.  line  44.    28.  but  and,  and  besides.    32.  dree,  rue.    36.  reek,  smoke. 


THE  HEROISM   OF   WAR 


95 


O  then  bespake  her  little  son,  45 

Sat  on  the  nurse's  knee; 
Says,  "O  mither  dear,  give  o'er  this  house! 

For  the  reek  it  smothers  me." 

—  "I  winna  give  up  my  house,  my  dear, 

To  no  sic  traitor  as  he :  50 

Come  weel,  come  woe,  my  jewel  fair, 
Ye  maun  take  share  with  me." 

O  then  bespake  her  daughter  dear, — 

She  was  both  jimp  and  small: 
"O  row  me  in  a  pair  of  sheets,  55 

And  tow  me  o'er  the  wall !  " 

They  row'd  her  in  a  pair  of  sheets, 

And  tow'd  her  o'er  the  wall; 
But  on  the  point  of  Gordon's  spear 

She  gat  a  deadly  fall.  60 

0  bonnie,  bonnie  was  her  mouth, 
And  cherry  were  her  cheeks, 

And  clear,  clear  was  her  yellow  hair, 
Whereon  the  red  blood  dreeps ! 

Then  with  his  spear  he  turn'd  her  o'er;  65 

0  gin  her  face  was  wan ! 

He  said,  "Ye  are  the  first  that  e'er 

1  wish'd  alive  again. 

H  Busk  and  boun,  my  merry  men  all, 

For  ill  dooms  I  do  guess;  —  70 

1  cannot  look  on  that  bonnie  face 

As  it  lies  on  the  grass." 

54.  jimp,  graceful.     55.  row,  roll.     66.  gin,  if.     69.  busk  and  boun,  make 
ready. 


96  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

But  when  the  ladye  saw  the  fire 

Come  flaming  o'er  her  head, 
She  wept,  and  kiss'd  her  children  twain,  75 

Says,  "Bairns,  we  be  but  dead." 

—  O  this  way  look'd  her  own  dear  lord, 

As  he  came  o'er  the  lea; 
He  saw  his  castle  all  in  a  lowe, 

So  far  as  he  could  see.  80 

"  Put  on,  put  on,  my  mighty  men, 

As  fast  as  ye  can  dri'e ! 
For  he  that's  hindmost  of  the  thrang 

Shall  ne'er  get  good  of  me!" 

Then  some  they  rade,  and  some  they  ran,  85 

Out-o'er  the  grass  and  bent; 
But  ere  the  foremost  could  win  up, 

Both  lady  and  babes  were  brent. 

And  after  the  Gordon  he  is  gane, 

Sae  fast  as  he  might  dri'e;  90 

And  soon  i'  the  Gordon's  foul  heart's  blood 

He's  wroken  his  fair  ladye. 

79.  lowe,  flame.     82.  dri'e,  drive.    92.  wroken,  avenged. 
Is  the  ballad  simple?  affecting?     Select  what  seems  to  you  the  most 
powerful  stanza.     Is  there  throughout  the  ballad  a  vivid  appeal  to  the  eye  ? 


A  PLANTATION   HEROINE 

George  Cary  Eggleston 

It  was  nearing  the  end. 

Every  resource  of  the  Southern  states  had  been  taxed 
to  the  point  of  exhaustion. 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR 


97 


The  people  had  given  up  everything  they  had  for 
"the  cause."  5 

Under  the  law  of  a  "tax  in  kind,"  they  had  surren- 
dered all  they  could  spare  of  food  products  of  every 
character.  Under  an  untamable  impulse  of  patriotism 
they  had  surrendered  much  more  than  they  could  spare 
in  order  to  feed  the  army.  10 

It  was  at  such  a  time  that  I  went  to  my  home  county 
on  a  little  military  business.  I  stopped  for  dinner  at  a 
house,  the  lavish  hospitality  of  which  had  been  a  byword 
in  the  old  days. 

It  found  before  me  at  dinner  the  remnants  of  a  cold  15 
boiled  ham,  some  boiled  mustard  greens,  which  we  Vir- 
ginians called  "salad,"  a  pitcher  of  buttermilk,  some 
corn  pones,  and  —  nothing  else. 

I  carved  the  ham,  and  offered  to  serve  it  to  the  three 
women  of  the  household.  But  they  all  declined.  They  20 
made  their  dinner  on  salad,  buttermilk,  and  corn  bread, 
the  latter  eaten  very  sparingly,  as  I  observed.  The  ham 
went  only  to  myself  and  to  the  three  convalescent 
wounded  soldiers,  who  were  guests  in  the  house. 

Wounded  men  were  at  that  time  guests  in  every  house  25 
in  Virginia. 

I  lay  awake  that  night  and  thought  over  the  circum- 
stance. The  next  morning  I  took  occasion  to  have  a 
talk  on  the  old  familiar  terms  with  the  young  woman  of 
the  family,  with  whom  I  had  been  on  a  basis  of  friend-  30 
ship  in  the  old  days  that  even  permitted  me  to  kiss  her 
upon  due  and  proper  occasion. 

"Why  didn't  you  take  some  ham  last  night?  "  I  asked 
urgently. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  want  it,"  she  replied.  35 

14.  Might  the  first  five  paragraphs  better  be  combined  in  one  ?    24.  Might 
the  sixth  and  seventh  ? 
H 


98 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


"Now,  you  know  you're  fibbing,"  I  said.  "Tell  me 
the  truth,  won't  you?  " 

She  blushed,  and  hesitated.  Presently  she  broke 
down  and  answered  frankly :  "  Honestly,  I  did  want  the 
ham.  I  have  hungered  for  meat  for  months.  But  I  40 
mustn't  eat  it,  and  I  won't.  You  see  the  army  needs 
all  the  food  there  is,  and  more.  We  women  can't  fight, 
though  I  don't  see  at  all  why  they  shouldn't  let  us,  and 
so  we  are  trying  to  feed  the  fighting  men  —  and  there 
aren't  any  others.  We've  made  up  our  minds  not  to  eat  45 
anything  that  can  be  sent  to  the  front  as  rations." 

"You  are  starving  yourselves,"  I  exclaimed. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said.  "And  if  we  were,  what  would  it 
matter?  Haven't  Lee's  soldiers  starved  many  a  day? 
But  we  aren't  starving.  You  see  we  had  plenty  of  salad  5° 
and  buttermilk  last  night.  And  we  even  ate  some  of  the 
corn  bread.  I  must  stop  that,  by  the  way,  for  corn  meal 
is  a  good  ration  for  the  soldiers." 

A  month  or  so  later  this  frail  but  heroic  young  girl 
was  laid  away  in  the  Grub  Hill  churchyard.  55 

Don't  talk  to  me  about  the  "heroism  "  that  braves  a 
fire  of  hell  under  enthusiastic  impulse.  That  young 
girl  did  a  higher  act  of  self-sacrifice  than  any  soldier 
who  fought  on  either  side  during  the  war  ever  dreamed 
of  doing.  60 

THE  ANGELS   OF   BUENA  VISTA 
John  Greenleaf  Whittier 

Speak  and  tell  us,  our  Ximena,  looking  northward  far  away, 
O'er  the  camp  of  the  invaders,  o'er  the  Mexican  array, 
Who  is  losing?  who  is  winning?  are  they  far  or  come 
they  near? 

I.   Ximena    (zimdynya).   Is  the  metre  iambic  or  trochaic? 


THE  HEROISM   OF   WAR  gg 

Look  abroad,  and  tell  us,  sister,  whither  rolls  the  storm  we 

hear. 
"Down  the  hills  of  Angostura  still  the  storm  of  battle  rolls; 
Blood  is  flowing,  men  are  dying;  God  have  mercy  on  their 

souls!"  6 

Who  is  losing?  who  is  winning?  —  "Over  hill  and  over 

plain, 
I  see  but  smoke  of  cannon  clouding  through  the  mountain 

rain." 

Holy  Mother!-   keep  our  brothers!     Look,  Ximena,  look 

once  more : 
"Still    I    see    the    fearful    whirlwind    rolling    darkly    as 

before,  10 

Bearing  on,  in  strange  confusion,  friend  and  foeman,  foot 

and  horse, 
Like  some  wild  and  troubled  torrent  sweeping  down  its 

mountain  course." 

Look  forth  once  more,   Ximena!     "Ah!   the  smoke  has 

rolled  away; 
And  I  see  the  Northern  rifles  gleaming  down  the  ranks  of 

gray. 
Hark!   that  sudden  blast  of  bugles!    there  the  troop   of 

Minon  wheels;  is 

There  the  Northern  horses  thunder,  with  the  cannon  at 

their  heels. 

"  Jesu,  pity !  how  it  thickens !  now  retreat  and  now  advance ! 
Right  against  the  blazing  cannon  shivers  Puebla's  charging 

lance ! 
Down  they  go,   the  brave  young  riders;   horse  and  foot 

together  fall; 
Like  a  ploughshare  in  the   fallow,   through  them  plough 

the  Northern  ball."  2° 


I00  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Nearer  came  the  storm  and  nearer,  rolling  fast  and  fright- 
ful on : 

Speak,  Ximena,  speak  and  tell  us,  who  has  lost,  and  who 
has  won? 

"Alas!  alas!  I  know  not;  friend  and  foe  together  fall, 

O'er  the  dying  rush  the  living:  pray,  my  sisters,  for  them 
all !  " 

"Lo!  the  wind  the  smoke  is  lifting:  Blessed  Mother,  save 

my  brain !  25 

I  can  see  the  wounded  crawling  slowly  out  from  heaps  of 

slain. 
Now  they  stagger,  blind  and  bleeding;  now  they  fall,  and 

strive  to  rise; 
Hasten,  sisters,  haste  and  save  them,  lest  they  die  before 

our  eyes ! " 

"Oh  my  heart's  love!  oh  my  dear  one!  lay  thy  poor  head 

on  my  knee; 
Dost  thou  know  the  lips  that  kiss  thee?     Canst  thou  hear 

me?  canst  thou  see?  30 

Oh,  my  husband,  brave  and  gentle!   oh,  my  Bernal,   look 

once  more 
On  the  blessed  cross  before  thee!   mercy!   mercy!   all  is 


Dry  thy  tears,  my  poor  Ximena;  lay  thy  dear  one  down  to 

rest; 
Let  his  hands  be  meekly  folded,  lay  the  cross  upon  his 

breast; 
Let  his  dirge  be  sung  hereafter,  and  his  funeral  masses 

said;  35 

To-day,  thou  poor  bereaved  one,  the  living  ask  thy  aid. 

29.   Here  Ximena  speaks.    There  are  two  speakers  in  this  poem  besides 
the  poet ;  is  there  a  dialogue,  or  are  there  two  monologues  ? 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR     :  '  >     ,     ,     5W 


Close   beside   her,    faintly   moaning,    fair   and   young,    a 

soldier  lay, 
Torn  with  shot  and  pierced  with  lances,  bleeding  slow  his 

life  away; 
But,  as  tenderly  before  him,  the  lorn  Ximena  knelt, 
She  saw  the  Northern  eagle  shining  on  his  pistol  belt.      40 


With  a  stifled  cry  of  horror  straight  she  turned  away  her 

head; 
With  a  sad  and  bitter  feeling  looked  she  back  upon  her 

dead; 
But  she  heard  the  youth's  low  moaning,  and  his  struggling 

breath  of  pain, 
And  she  raised  the  cooling  water  to  his  parching  lips  again. 


Whispered  low  the  dying  soldier,    pressed  her  hand  and 

faintly  smiled :  45 

Was  that  pitying  face  his  mother's  ?  did  she  watch  beside 

her  child? 
All  his  stranger  words  with  meaning  her  woman's  heart 

supplied; 
With  her  kiss  upon  his  forehead,   "Mother!"  murmured 

he,  and  died ! 


"A  bitter  curse  upon  them,    poor  boy,   who    led    thee 

forth, 
From  some  gentle,  sad-eyed  mother,  weeping,  lonely,  in 

the  North  !  "  50 

Spake  the  mournful  Mexic  woman,  as  she  laid  him  with 

her  dead, 
And  turned  to  soothe  the  living,  and  bind  the  wounds 

which  bled. 


102-      ,    ,\    '    '  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Look  forth  once  more,  Ximena!     "  Like  a  cloud  before  the 

wind 
Rolls  the  battle  down  the  mountains,  leaving  blood  and 

death  behind; 
Ah !  they  plead  in  vain  for  mercy;  in  the  dust  the  wounded 

strive;  55 

Hide  your  faces,  holy  angels!   oh,  thou  Christ  of  God, 

forgive ! " 

Sink,  oh  Night,  among  thy  Mountains!  let  the  cool,  gray 

shadows  fall; 
Dying  brothers,   fighting  demons,   drop  thy  curtain  over 

all! 
Through  the  thickening  winter  twilight,   wide  apart  the 

battle  rolled, 
In  its  sheath  the  sabre  rested,  and  the  cannon's  lips  grew 

cold.  60 

But  the  noble  Mexic  women  still  their  holy  task  pur- 
sued, 

Through  that  long,  dark  night  of  sorrow,  worn  and  faint 
and  lacking  food; 

Over  weak  and  suffering  brothers,  with  a  tender  care  they 
hung, 

And  the  dying  foeman  blessed  them  in  a  strange  and 
Northern  tongue. 

Not  wholly  lost,  oh  Father!  is  this  evil  world  of  ours;      65 
Upward,   through  its  blood  and  ashes,   spring  afresh  the 

Eden  flowers; 
From  its  smoking  hell  of  battle,  Love  and  Pity  send  their 

prayer, 
And  still  thy  white-winged  angels  hover  dimly  in  our  air! 


THE  HEROISM  OF  WAR  L0^ 

DECORATION1 

Ma  nidus  date  lilia  plenis 
Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson 

'Mid  the  flower- wreathed  tombs  I  stand, 
Bearing  lilies  in  my  hand. 
Comrades !  in  what  soldier-grave 
Sleeps  the  bravest  of  the  brave? 

Is  it  he  who  sank  to  rest  5 

With  his  colors  round  his  breast? 
Friendship  makes  his  tomb  a  shrine, 
Garlands  veil  it;  ask  not  mine. 

One  low  grave,  yon  trees  beneath, 

Bears  no  roses,  wears  no  wreath;  10 

Yet  no  heart  more  high  and  warm 

Ever  dared  the  battle-storm. 

Never  gleamed  a  prouder  eye 

In  the  front  of  victory; 

Never  foot  had  firmer  tread  15 

On  the  field  where  hope  lay  dead, 

Than  are  hid  within  this  tomb, 

Where  the  untended  grasses  bloom; 

And  no  stone  with  feigned  distress, 

Mocks  the  sacred  loneliness.  20 

1  Reprinted  from  The  Afternoon  Landscape,  by  permission  of  Longmans, 
Green,  &  Co. 

The  Latin  motto  means  "  Strew  handfuls  of  lilies."  It  is  from  Vergil, 
and  refers  to  the  death  of  the  young  Roman  prince,  Marcellus,  son  of 
Augustus  Caesar.  The  whole  poem  may  be  compared  with  Bryant's  The 
Conqueror 's  Grave. 

4.  Do  the  simple,  regular  metre  and  simple  rhyme-scheme  (couplets) 
fit  the  theme? 


j£X4 .  STUD  Y  OF  LITER  A  TURE 

Youth  and  beauty,  dauntless  will, 
Dreams  that  life  could  ne'er  fulfil 
Here  lie  buried,  — here  in  peace 
Wrongs  and  woes  have  found  release. 

Turning  from  my  comrades'  eyes,  25 

Kneeling  where  a  woman  lies, 
I  strew  lilies  on  the  grave 
Of  the  bravest  of  the  brave. 


THE   BURIAL  OF   SIR  JOHN   MOORE 
Charles  Wolfe 

Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note, 
As  his  corse  to  the  rampart  we  hurried; 

Not  a  soldier  discharged,  his  farewell  shot 
O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

We  buried  him  darkly  at  dead  of  night,  5 

The  sods  with  our  bayonets  turning; 
By  the  struggling  moonbeam's  misty  light, 

And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 

No  useless  coffin  enclosed  his  breast, 

Not  in  sheet  nor  in  shroud  we  wound  him;  10 

But  he  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest 

With  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 

Few  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  said, 

And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow; 
But  we  steadfastly  gazed  on  the  face  that  was  dead,    15 

And  we  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow. 

1.  Name  the  line  according  to  the  accents  and  predominant  foot.     What 
ending  ?     2.  What  ending  ?     Does  it  hasten  the  movement  ? 


THE  HEROISM   OF   WAR 


105 


We  thought,  as  we  hollowed  his  narrow  bed, 

And  smoothed  down  his  lonely  pillow, 
That  the  foe  and  the  stranger  would  tread  o'er  his  head, 

And  we  far  away  on  the  billow !  20 

Lightly  they'll  talk  of  the  spirit  that's  gone, 

And  o'er  his  cold  ashes  upbraid  him,  — 
But  little  he'll  reck,  if  they  let  him  sleep  on 

In  the  grave  where  a  Briton  has  laid  him. 

But  half  of  our  heavy  task  was  done,  25 

When  the  clock  struck  the  hour  for  retiring; 

And  we  heard  the  distant  and  random  gun 
That  the  foe  was  sullenly  firing. 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down, 

From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory;  30 

We  carved  not  a  line,  and  we  raised  not  a  stone  — 

But  we  left  him  alone  with  his  glory ! 

Which  stanza  presents  the  most  striking  picture  ?    Which  appeals  the 
most  to  the  ear  ?    Which  seems  the  most  genuine  in  its  sadness  ? 

ON  THE  AMERICAN  REVOLUTION 

William  Pitt,  Earl  of  Chatham 

I  cannot,  my  lords,  I  will  not,  join  in  congratulation 
on  misfortune  and  disgrace.  This,  my  lords,  is  a  peril- 
ous and  tremendous  moment :  it  is  not  a  time  for  adula- 
tion :  the  smoothness  of  flattery  cannot  save  us  in  this 
rugged  and  awful  crisis.  It  is  now  necessary  to  instruct  5 
the  throne,  in  the  language  of  truth.  We  must,  if  pos- 
sible, dispel  the  delusion  and  darkness  which  envelop 
it;  and  display,  in  its  full  danger  and  genuine  colors, 
the  ruin  which  is  brought  to  our  doors.  Can  ministers 
still  presume  to  expect  support  in  their  infatuation?  10 


106  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Can  Parliament  be  so  dead  to  its  dignity  and  duty  as  to 
give  their  support  to  measures  thus  obtruded  and  forced 
upon  them  —  measures,  my  lords,  which  have  reduced 
this  late  flourishing  empire  to  scorn  and  contempt.  But 
yesterday,  "and  England  might  have  stood  against  the  is 
world  —  now,  none  so  poor  to  do  her  reverence."  The 
people  we  at  first  despised  as  rebels,  but  whom  we  now 
acknowledge  as  enemies,  are  abetted  against  you,  sup- 
plied with  every  military  store,  their  interests  consulted, 
and  their  ambassadors  entertained  by  your  inveterate  20 
enemy;  and  our  ministers  do  not,  and  dare  not,  inter- 
pose with  dignity  or  effect.  The  desperate  state  of  our 
army  abroad  is  in  part  known.  No  man  more  highly 
esteems  and  honors  the  English  troops  than  I  do:  I 
know  their  virtue  and  their  valor:  I  know  they  can  25 
achieve  anything  except  impossibilities;  and  I  know 
that  the  conquest  of  English  America  is  an  impossibility. 
You  cannot,  my  lords,  you  cannot  conquer  America. 
What  is  your  present  situation  there?  We  do  not  know 
the  worst,  but  we  know  that  in  three  campaigns  we  have  30 
done  nothing,  and  suffered  much.  You  may  swell  every 
expense,  and  strain  every  effort,  accumulate  every  as- 
sistance, and  extend  your  traffic  to  the  shambles  of  every 
German  despot;  your  attempts  forever  will  be  vain  and 
impotent;  doubly  so  indeed  from  this  mercenary  aid  on  35 
which  you  rely;  for  it  irritates  to  an  incurable  resent- 
ment the  minds  of  your  adversaries  to  overrun  them  with 
the  mercenary  sons  of  rapine  and  plunder,  devoting 
them  and  their  possessions  to  the  rapacity  of  hireling 
cruelty.  If  I  were  an  American,  as  I  am  an  English-  40 
man,  while  a  foreign  troop  was  landed  in  my  country,  I 
never  would  lay  down  my  arms  —  never  !  never  !  never  ! 

Is  the  language  of  this  passage  colloquial  or  elevated  ?     Is  it  high-flown, 
or  was  it  warranted  by  the  occasion  ? 


THE  HEROISM  OF   WAR  iqj 


CONCORD   HYMN 

SUNG  AT  THE   COMPLETION  OF   THE   BATTLE  MONUMENT, 
APRIL    19,    1836 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

By  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood, 

Their  flag  to  April's  breeze  unfurled, 
Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood, 

And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world. 

The  foe  long  since  in  silence  slept;  5 

Alike  the  conqueror  silent  sleeps; 
And  Time  the  ruined  bridge  has  swept 

Down  the  dark  stream  which  seaward  creeps. 

On  this  green  bank,  by  this  soft  stream, 

We  set  to-day  a  votive  stone;  10 

That  memory  may  their  deed  redeem, 
When,  like  our  sires,  our  sons  are  gone. 

Spirit,  that  made  those  heroes  dare 
To  die,  and  leave  their  children  free, 

Bid  Time  and  Nature  gently  spare  15 

The  shaft  we  raise  to  them  and  thee. 

2.  Name  the  line  according  to  accents  and  feet.  3.  embattled  is  a  word 
of  Emerson's  coinage ;   is  it  good  ?    9.  Why  soft? 

This  poem  was  sung  as  a  hymn.  Which  of  the  following  things  are 
particularly  desirable  in  a  hymn :  elaborate  phrases ;  words  easily  under- 
stood; complex,  skilfully  varied  metre  (like  that  of  The  Revenge);  even, 
regular  metre;  tripping  movement;  stately  movement;  simple  thought; 
complex  thought ;  overwhelming  emotion  ;  sincere  but  controlled  emotion? 


I08  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Plan  of  Summary.  —  Reviewing  the  chapter,  (i)  enumerate  the 
kinds  of  metre,  designating  them  by  the  number  of  accents  and  the  pre- 
dominant foot.  Then  (2)  say  which  poem  is  most  noticeable  for  melody; 
(3)  which  for  beauty  of  suggested  sights;  (4)  which  for  pleasure 
of  suggested  sounds;  (5)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  activity; 
(6)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  odors  or  tastes;  (7)  which  is  most 
easily  understood;  (8)  which  moves  the  reader  most  deeply;  (9)  which 
shows  most  skill  in  character  drawing;  (10)  which  has  the  best  unity; 
(n)  which,  your  critical  judgment  tells  you,  is  the  best  piece  of  work; 
(12)  which  you  like  the  best,  —  without  regard  to  its  deserved  rank,  or 
its  fame. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE   HEROISM   OF  PEACE 

Though  wars  have  sometimes  been  a  moral  necessity,  as  Hannah 
Miss  Clarke  implies  in  her  stirring  ballad  of  our  American  the  Quak" 

1  °  eress, 

Revolution,  and  though,  in  Douglas  Jerrold's  words,  "There  p.  u7. 
is  a  peace  more  destructive  of  the  manhood  of  living  man 
than  war  is  destructive  to  his  material  body,"  yet  honorable 
peace  is  man's  noblest  achievement.     When  blood  is  up 
and  thirst  for  revenge  is  hot,  it  is  easy  to  go  on  fighting  to 
the  death.     There  are  nations  that  live  in  eternal  war  with 
each  other.     Even  in  civilized  lands,  there  are  families 
between  which  exist  feuds  of  centuries'  standing.     It  is 
distinctly  heroic,  therefore,  to  be  quickly  reconciled  with   Reconcilia- 
an  enemy.     Walt  Whitman,  as  he  pictures  a  soldier  gazing   tlon,p- 12°- 
upon  the  dead  face  of  his  foe,  declares  Reconciliation  to 
be  the  most  beautiful  word  in  the  world. 

It  is  hard  for  the  victor  to  refrain  from  unheroic  exulta- 
tion over  his  enemy,  and  harder  for  the  vanquished  to  take 
up  his  broken  life  and  make  the  most  of  it.     Consider  the  The  Con- 
case  of  the  Southern  soldier,  whom  Mr.  Grady,  in  a  brill-   tidier6 
iant  speech,  sketched  as  returning  to  his  ruined  home,    after  the 
Northern  youth  of  to-day  cannot  appreciate  what  it  has  War-P-121- 
cost  the  Southerners  to  reconstruct  the  South. 

It  is  a  great  thing  to  save  a  state  by  force  of  arms.  It 
is  a  greater  thing  to  save  it  afterward  from  dishonesty  and 
corruption.  The  soldiers  who  fought  the  battles  of  the 
Civil  War  found  another  fight  to  wage  when  they  got  home. 
Military  heroes,  both  Northern  and  Southern,  had  now  to 

109 


no 


STUDY   OF  LITERATURE 


The  Ar- 
senal at 
Spring- 
field, p.  123. 


protect  the  nation  from  greedy  office-seeking  and  traitorous 
office-using.  The  poet  Bayard  Taylor  told  the  Union  vet- 
erans, as  long  ago  as  1877,  that  their  hardest  work  was  yet 
to  do.  He  declared  that  to  the  soldier  of  peace  each  true 
man  is  a  friend,  each  false  man  a  foe.  Longfellow  hated 
war  almost  as  much  as  he  hated  slavery.  In  one  of  his 
strongest  short  poems  he  declared  that  half  the  money  spent 
on  camps  and  forts  could  be  so  spent  as  to  remove  all  need 
of  camps  and  forts. 

Peace  hath  her  victories, 
No  less  renowned  than  war, 


The  Three 
Fishers, 
p.  125. 
A  Sea 
Story, 
p.  126. 

Patroling 
Barnegat, 
p.  127. 


sings  Milton.  Yet  few  of  the  individuals  who  win  the  vic- 
tories of  peace  can  be  renowned.  Homer  says  of  a  particu- 
lar hour's  fight  that  it  were  hard  for  him,  though  he  were  a 
god,  to  tell  of  all  the  deeds.  Many  a  gallant  fellow  dies  in 
battle  without  hope  of  the  poet's  praise,  but  more  suffer  a 
similar  fate  in  time  of  peace.  It  is  the  unsung  courage  of 
nameless  men  that  keeps  the  world  moving.  The  fisherman 
on  the  winter  ocean,  the  patrolman  on  the  coast,  the  miner 
in  the  fire-damp,  the  engineer  at  the  throttle,  the  fireman 
in  the  burning  house,  the  nurse  and  the  doctor  in  the 
plague, —  all  these  are  splendidly  intrepid.  Of  a  thousand 
such  heroes  but  few  have  passed  into  literature.  The  duty 
of  all  fishermen  stands  out  sternly  in  Kingsley's  song  of  the 
three  who  lay  dead  on  the  shining  sands.  A  young  sailor 
relaxing  his  hold  on  the  tiny  raft,  to  save  his  friend  who 
has  a  family,  is  the  theme  of  Miss  Hickey's  A  Sea  Story. 
In  Whitman's  Patroling  Barnegat,  the  life-saver  struggles 
steadily  through  the  blinding  night  on  his  humane  mission. 
The  self-sacrifice  of  a  rough  miner  is  honored  in  one  of 
Bret  Harte's  poems  {In  the  Tunnel),  and  in  another 
(Guild's  Signal)  that  of  the  engineer  who  disdains  to  jump 
from  his  engine.     The  fidelity  of  Conductor  Bradley  did 


THE  HEROISM  OF  PEACE  Iri 

not  escape  the  notice  of  Whittier.     The  nurse  in  the  plague 

has  never  been  written  of  more  affectingly  than  by  Mrs. 

Phelps  Ward  in  her  story  of  the  murderer  Zerviah  Hope, 

who  washed  out  his  crime  by  giving  his  life  for  others. 

The  doctor  appears  in  Whittier' s  The  Hero  as  achieving 

the  impossible.     This  particular  hero  was  Dr.  Howe,  who, 

with  infinite  patience  and  skill,  taught  Laura  Bridgman. 

He  found  a  way  of  enriching  life  for  those  born  without 

sight,  hearing,  and  speech.     Dr.  Holmes  has  also  praised 

the  physician,  in  his  poem  of  The  Two  Armies.     The  duty 

of  one  army  is  to  slay;  that  of  the  other,  the  far  nobler 

band,  is  to  save.     A  great  fire  reveals  heroism  not  merely 

in  the  ordinary  fireman,  like  him  of  Mrs.  Mulock  Craik's 

A   IVue  Hero,  but  in  other  people.     Lowell  tells  —  An 

Incident  of  the  Fire  at  Hamburgh  —  how,  when  the  flames  An  Inci- 

were  beating  down  his  church,  the  old  sexton  stood  by  his 

bells,  and  chimed,  "All  good  souls  praise  the  Lord,"  until   Ham' 

the  tower  came  crashing  down.  burgh, 

Recognized  or  unrecognized  in  literature,  great  deeds 

are  not  lacking  in  common  life.     Mr.  Kipling  is  said  to 

have  declared  that  there  will  be  no  dearth  of  subjects  for 

literature  so  long  as  the  daily  paper  exists.     Certainly  that 

is  true  of  themes  for  heroic  ballads.     To-day  it  is  the 

account  of  a  gamin  unconcernedly  losing  an  arm  in  saving 

his  chum  amid  the  maze  of  tracks;  to-morrow,  that  of  a 

painter  dashing  before  a  car  and  yielding  his  life  for  a 

stranger's  child,  —  I  refer  to  Hovenden,  whose  picture, 

"Breaking  Home  Ties,"  was  at  the  Fair  of  1893.     It  may 

be  a  report  of  fine  humanity  from  a  quarter  where  it  was 

least  expected.    Dr.  Conan  Doyle  has  versified  such  a  report 

of  a  sporting  man.     He  was  a  quiet  fellow,  riding  to  the 

hounds  with  a  party  of  friends.     It  is  the  custom  of  fox-   -ware 

hunters  to  call  out  "  'Ware  Holes,"  when  they  see  a  rabbit-   Holes> 

p.  130. 
burrow   that    may   trip   those   behind.     The    "gent   from 


dent  of  the 
Fire  at 


II2  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

London  "  ran  at  full  speed  upon  a  deep,  hidden  quarry. 
He  went  down  easily  to  his  death,  calmly  singing  out, 
"  'Ware  Holes,"  —  and  saved  all  three  who  were  just  behind 
him.1 

The  severest  tests  of  heroism  come  when  the  hero  has  no 
immediate  pattern  to  work  by.  Most  persons  have  imagined 
themselves  saving  another's  life, — though,  indeed,  that  is 
not  the  same  thing  as  performing  the  feat.  But  the  actual 
demands  for  heroism  are  often  of  an  unexpected  sort.  A 
new  species  of  courage  must  be  shown.  A  "loftier  way," 
as  Emerson  said,  must  be  found.  For  example,  if  physical 
courage  is  demanded,  it  is  apt  to  be  some  absurd  thing  like 
controlling  an  irritable  nerve.  New  forms  of  bravery  are 
constantly  being  exhibited.  Even  in  children  the  highest 
courage  in  enduring  pain,  both  physical  and  mental,  is 
often  seen.  The  mere  pains  of  fear  felt  by  children  are 
inconceivable  to  grown  persons, —  fear  of  the  dark,  fear  of 
animals,  fear  of  the  bully,  fear  of  ridicule,  fear  of  death. 
To  overcome  any  of  these  is  a  great  achievement  for  a 
child.  The  following  anecdote  by  Dr.  Clay  Trumbull,  of 
Philadelphia,  would  be  incredible  to  any  but  those  who 
have  studied  children:  — 

"There  was  a  tender-hearted,  loving  child  in  a  New 
England  home,  to  whom  life  was  all  gladness  and  joy.  He 
loved  as  he  was  loved,  and  he  was  worthy  of  all  the  love 
which  was  given  to  him.  One  day,  as  he  was  starting  out 
for  a  ride  with  his  parents,  he  asked  them  where  they  were 
going;  and  they  told  him  that  they  were  going  to  take  him 
up  to  the  new  cemetery,  a  beautiful  city  of  the  dead  by  the 
river's  bank,   beyond  the   town.      His  bright  face   grew 

1  On  the  day  that  these  lines  were  sent  to  the  printer,  the  newspapers 
were  reporting  the  heroic  death  of  a  sporting  man  in  New  York.  Mr.  James 
McDonald  threw  his  runaway  horse  to  save  a  collision  with  approaching 
carriages.  In  so  doing  he  was  obliged  to  sacrifice  his  own  life  and  that 
of  his  horse. 


THE  HEROISM   OF  PEACE  j^ 

shadowed,  and  his  little  lips  quivered,  so  that  his  father 
asked  him,  'Why,  Willy,  don't  you  want  to  go  there?' 
Quietly  the  trustful  answer  came  back,  '  Yes,  if  you  think 
it  best,  papa. '  And  they  rode  on  silently,  in  through  the 
broad  gateway;  on,  along  the  lovely  tree-shaded  and  turf- 
bordered  avenues. 

"That  bright  boy  seemed  strangely  quiet,  clinging  in  love 
to  his  mother's  side,  and  looking  up  from  time  to  time 
with  a  face  that  seemed  never  so  beautiful  in  its  restful 
confidence.  As  they  finally  passed  out  again  from  the 
gateway  they  had  entered,  the  dear  child  drew  a  breath  of 
relief,  and,  looking  up  in  new  surprise,  asked,  'Why,  am 
I  going  back  with  you  again?  '  '  Of  course  you  are.  Why 
should  you  doubt  it  ?  '  '  Why,  I  thought  that  when  they 
took  little  children  to  the  cemetery,  they  left  them  there,' 
said  that  hero-child. 

"And  then  it  was  found  that  with  a  child's  imperfect 
knowledge  that  dear  boy  had  supposed  he  was  being  taken, 
at  the  call  of  God,  and  by  the  parents  whom  he  loved  and 
trusted,  to  be  buried  in  the  place  which  he  had  heard  of 
only  as  a  place  of  burial.  And  all  by  himself  he  had  had 
the  struggle  with  himself,  and  had  proved  the  victor."  l 

Children  know  so  little  of  life  that  they  can"  hardly  be 
expected  to  have  courage ;  they  have  few  grounds  for  cour- 
age.    Imagine  an  orphan  girl  in  the  hospital,  a  little  crea- 
ture like  that  in  Mr.   Henley's  Enter  Patient.     Imagine   Enter  Pa- 
this  child  overhearing  a  surgeon  say  that  she  must  undergo   tlent.p-i32« 
an  operation  from  which  she  can  hardly  hope  to  recover. 
Some  idea  of  what  an  operation  means  can  be  had  from   Operation, 
Mr.  Henley's  poem  on  that  subject.     There  is  no  parent  P-  *33- 
to  assure  her  that  it  will  "not  hurt  much";  that  "father 
will  hold  her  hand  all  the  while."     Now  we  get  the  situa-    in  the 
tion  in  Tennyson's  poem  on  little  Emmie.     Her  childish   Children's 

'  r  Hospital, 

1  "  Character-shaping  and  Character-showing."  P«  I34- 

I 


ii4 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


San  Lo- 
renzo Gius- 
tiniani's 
Mother, 
P.  139. 


Barclay  of 
Ury,  p.  140. 


heart  is  shaken  with  fear,  but  she  asks  advice  of  Annie, 
who  lies  in  the  next  cot.  Annie  advises  an  appeal  to  the 
Lord  Jesus  —  on  the  wall  there  is  a  print  of  Him  among 
the  children.  But  Emmie  is  sceptical;  how  will  He  know 
who  is  who,  among  so  many  cots  in  the  ward.  "  Tell  Him 
it  is  the  little  girl  with  her  arms  lying  out  on  the  counter- 
pane." This  device  serves,  and  Emmie  falls  asleep  with 
courageous  heart.  In  that  repose  of  faith  she  is  permitted 
to  slip  away  into  the  world  of  light. 

As  life  grows  more  complex,  the  occasions  for  unobserved 
courage  become  more  numerous.  San  Lorenzo's  mother, 
in  Mrs.  MeynelFs  lovely  poem,  had  given  her  son  to  the 
cloister,  and  had  not  seen  him  since  he  reached  his  man- 
hood. When  one  day  a  member  of  his  order  came,  she 
thought  she  recognized  her  boy,  and  her  heart  sprang  to 
meet  him.  But  she  had  given  him  absolutely  to  the  holy 
cause,  and  she  would  neither  come  between  him  and  it, 
nor  allow  him  to  hide  from  her  the  Son  that  cannot  change. 
Perhaps  she  was  mistaken  in  her  duty,  but  could  any  action 
be  braver? 

The  poet  Whittier  celebrated  many  instances  of  moral 
courage.  It  was  he  who  wrote  of  the  Scotch  Quaker  Bar- 
clay, prefixing  to  his  poem  these  words:  "Among  the  earli- 
est converts  to  the  doctrine  of  Friends,  in  Scotland,  was 
Barclay  of  Ury,  an  old  and  distinguished  soldier,  who  had 
fought  under  Gustavus  Adolphus,  in  Germany.  As  a 
Quaker,  he  became  the  object  of  persecution  and  abuse  at 
the  hands  of  the  magistrates  and  the  populace.  None  bore 
the  indignities  of  the  mob  with  greater  patience  and  noble- 
ness of  soul  than  this  once  proud  gentleman  and  soldier. 
One  of  his  friends,  on  an  occasion  of  uncommon  rudeness, 
lamented  that  he  should  be  treated  so  harshly  in  his  old 
age,  who  had  been  so  honored  before.  'I  find  more  satis- 
faction,'  said  Barclay,   'as  well  as  honor  in  being   thus 


THE  HEROISM  OF  PEACE 


115 


insulted  for  my  religious  principles,  than  when,  a  few  years 
ago,  it  was  usual  for  the  magistrates,  as  I  passed  the  city  of 
Aberdeen,  to  meet  me  on  the  road  and  conduct  me  to 
public  entertainment  in  their  hall,  and  then  escort  me  out 
again,  to  gain  my  favor.'  " 

The  same  poet's  hero,  Davenport,  was  a  man  of  superb 
self-control.  About  ten  on  the  morning  of  19th  May, 
1780,  a  strange  darkness  fell  upon  New  England.  To  this 
day  astronomers  are  not  sure  what  caused  it.  In  the  Con- 
necticut State  House  the  legislators,  fearful  of  the  Judg- 
ment Day,  were  on  the  point  of  breaking  up,  when  Abraham 
Davenport  addressed  the  assembly  and  brought  it  to  its 
senses.    He  admitted  that  this  might  be  the  Judgment  Day, 

but 

Let  God  do  his  work,  we  will  see  to  ours. 

Bring  in  the  candles.     And  they  brought  them  in. 

That  old  New  England  blood  was  not  watery.  The  Pil- 
grims were  fanatics,  perhaps,  but  much  may  be  pardoned 
a  fanatic  if  he  is  also  a  hero;  and  heroes  they  were. 
To  cross,  for  conscience'  sake,  an  unknown  sea  to  a  land 
of  savages,  where  one  is  almost  certain  to  perish,  is  an 
adequate  test  of  moral  courage.     Of  the  poems  that  have   Landing  of 

been  written  about  the  Pilgrims,  that  by  Mrs.  Hemans  is  Je  pilsrim 

0  '  J  Fathers  in 

the  most  stirring,  though  Bryant's  is  finished  and  dignified.    New  Eng- 

A  recent  writer,  Mrs.  Stetson,  has  pointed  out  very  em-  land,  p.  145. 

phatically  the  lack  of  the  heroic  in  the  business  life.     With  Twenty- 

what  splendid  scorn  she  repeats  the  common  phrase  "  A  second  of 

man  must  live  !  "     Imagine,  she  says,  a  soldier  with  that  for      ^   er' 

a  battle-cry !     Mr.  Heman  White  Chaplin  has  a  story  called  "  A  Man 

Eli  j1  in  which  he  pictures  the  high   courage  which  faces  must„ 

loss  of  money,   friends,   and  social  position.     A  certain  p- 1^7% 

fisherman  is  summoned  for  jury  service  in  a  trial  for  bank 

1  In  the  admirable  volume,  "  Five  Hundred  Dollars,  and  Other  Stories." 
Boston :  Little,  Brown,  &  Co. 


1 1 6  STUD  Y  OF  LITERA  TURE 

robbery.  He  believes  the  accused  man  innocent,  though 
all  the  evidence  is  against  him.  Eli  stands  out  against  the 
persuasion  of  the  other  jurors.  They  give  him  to  under- 
stand what  such  determination  to  defeat  justice  will  mean. 
"Lively  times  some  folks'll  hev',  when  they  go  home," 
said  a  spare  tin-peddler,  stroking  his  long  yellow  goatee. 
"Go  into  the  store:  nobody  speak  to  you;  go  to  cattle- 
show:  everybody  follow  you  'round;  go  to  the  wharf: 
nobody  weigh  your  fish;  go  to  buy  seed-cakes  to  the  cart: 
baker  won't  give  no  tick."  The  butcher  asks  the  foreman 
how  much  it  costs  "  for  a  man  't's  obliged  to  leave  town,  to 
move  a  family  out  West."  A  friend  says  to  Eli,  "They  can 
kill  your  wife  and  break  down  your  children.  Women  and 
children  can't  stand  it."  But  Eli  holds  out,  nor  is  he 
mistaken  in  his  man. 

The  Hero,        According  to  Robert  Nicoll,  the  hero  is  not  the  soldier. 

p.  148.  "Go,   mock  at   conquerors   and   kings."      They  are   the 

inferiors  of  the  poor  man  who  works  hard  and  makes  no 
man,  woman,  or  child  unhappy.  On  the  whole,  young 
Nicoll  was  probably  right.  So  was  Whittier,  when  he  said, 
in  the  poem  on  Dr.  Howe,  — 

Dream  not  helm  and  harness 

The  sign  of  valor  true ; 
Peace  hath  higher  tests  of  manhood 

Than  battle  ever  knew. 


THE  HEROISM  OF  PEACE 


117 


[From  Harper's  Magazine.     Copyright,  1898,  by  Harper  & 
Brothers] 


HANNAH   THE   QUAKERESS 

AN   INCIDENT   OF   THE   REVOLUTION 

Ednah  Proctor  Clarke 

Hannah  the  Quakeress  sat 

And  knit,  by  the  parlor  door; 
And  she  heard  within  the  Brethren's  feet 

Pacing  her  sanded  floor; 

For  to-day  —  in  the  hour  of  fear,  5 

Of  defeat  by  land  and  sea, 
When  despair  had  clutched  the  hearts  that  fought 

Or  prayed  for  Liberty, 

When  lives  and  gold  seemed  flung 

In  a  useless,  hopeless  fight  10 

Waged  by  a  handful  of  ragged  boys 

Against  great  England's  might, 

They  had  met  at  Friend  Isaac's  house 

To  vote  for  a  shameful  peace. 
(Better  their  gold  with  a  tyrant's  bond  15 

Than  Freedom's  beggared  lease!) 

And  Hannah,  who  curtsied  them  in 

By  two  and  three  and  four, 
With  their  brooding  lips  and  their  troubled  eyes, 

Thought,  as  she  scanned  them  o'er:  20 


Il8  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

"They're  wanting  no  woman's  word; 

My  counsel  they'd  scorn  and  mock; 
But  I'll  set  my  chair  by  the  parlor  door, 

And  turn  the  heel  of  my  sock." 

She  was  the  gentlest  dame,  25 

The  most  dutiful  wife,  in  town; 
Never  a  glint  of  her  heart's  fire  slipped 

'Neath  the  veil  of  her  lashes  brown. 

But  swifter  her  needles  clicked 

As  the  wavering  footsteps  went  30 

To  and  fro  till  for  "  Peace !  "  for  "  Peace !  " 

The  clamorous  voices  blent. 

"Peace !  "  —  and  her  knitting  stopped 

As  the  dastard  votes  were  cast  — 
As  the  Elder  read  them  one  by  one  —  35 

And  Isaac's  name  was  the  last! 

Ah !  —  in  through  the  wide-flung  door 

Burst  Hannah  the  Quakeress  then, 
And  with  heaving  bosom  and  storming  brow 

She  faced  the  astounded  men.  40 

The  blue  yarn  sock  in  her  hand 

Shook  with  its  bristling  steel 
As  she  snatched  the  votes  from  the  Elder's  grasp 

And  ground  them  beneath  her  heel. 

"  Shame  on  you  —  traitors  —  cowards  —  45 

Who  fail  at  your  Country's  need ! 
Who  would  sell  your  birthright,  sell  your  souls 

In  your  paltry  selfish  greed ! 


THE  HEROISM   OF  PEACE  j.19 

"  We  want  not  your  Tory  gold ! 

The  Lord  God  shields  our  right !  s° 

Yea,  as  He  guided  Israel's  host, 

A  pillar  of  fire  by  night, 

"  He  will  lead  our  Armies  on ! 

And  when  our  land  is  free  "  — 
The  blue  sock  waved  like  a  flag  of  war —  55 

"Traitors !  where  will  you  be?  " 

Speechless  the  Council  stood, 

Dumb  'neath  that  storm  of  shame, 
Till  Isaac  gasped :  "  She  is  distraught ! 

Out !  —  to  thy  knitting,  dame !  "  60 

Then  how  she  flamed  and  turned ! 

"  Distraught  with  shame  of  thee ! 
Yea,  Isaac  Arnett,  hold  thy  tongue  — 

Thou' It  take  this  word  from  me ! 

"  Now,  as  the  Lord  doth  hear,  65 

Choose  thou  'twixt  peace  and  strife. 

I  married  thee  for  an  honest  man; 
I'll  be  no  traitor's  wife ! 

"  Thou  canst  keep  thy  house  and  thy  King. 

I  know  my  Country's  worth !  70 

I'd  rather  starve  in  her  frozen  fields 

Than  feed  at  a  traitor's  hearth !  " 

Flushed  Isaac's  cold  cheek  then; 

The  Brethren  hung  their  heads; 
And  the  Elder  lifted  the  trampled  votes  75 

And  tore  them  into  shreds. 


I20  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

"  Thank  God  in  this  nest  of  fear 

There  beats  one  loyal  heart ! 
Hannah  Arnett,  to  us  this  day 

A  Flame  of  the  Lord  thou  art !  80 

"  Friends,  when  a  woman  leads, 

No  man  is  laggard  found ! 
Here,  to  my  Country's  need  and  War 

I  pledge  an  hundred  pound." 

Then  the  Elder  lifted  his  pen  85 

And  wrote  his  gift  and  name. 
While  with  ten  and  twenty  and  fifty  more 

The  Brethren  crowding  came; 

And  stirred  as  the  great  deep  stirs 

When  a  tempest  smites  the  sea,  90 

They  pledged  their  honor,  wealth,  and  lives 

Again  to  Liberty ! 

And  what  of  Hannah  the  dame, 

With  her  heart  of  fire  and  steel? 
Oh !  she  smoothed  her  kerchief,  and  set  her  cap,       95 

And  finished  her  stocking  heel. 


RECONCILIATION1 
Walt  Whitman 

Word  over  all,  beautiful  as  the  sky, 

Beautiful  that  war  and  all  its  deeds  of  carnage  must  in  time 

be  utterly  lost, 
That  the  hands  of  the  sisters  Death  and  Night  incessantly 

softly  wash  again,  and  ever  again,  this  soil'd  world; 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  of  Small,  Maynard,  &  Co. 


THE  HEROISM   OF  PEACE  l2\ 

For  my  enemy  is  dead,  a  man  divine  as  myself  is  dead, 
I  look  where  he  lies  white-faced  and  still  in  the  coffin  —  I 

draw  near,  5 

Bend  down  and  touch  lightly  with  my  lips  the  white  face  in 

the  coffin. 

Having  read  the  poem  through  silently  several  times,  say  whether  it  has 
a  definite  metre ;  if  not,  whether  it  is  rhythmical  at  all. 

Is  any  sense  except  the  eye  definitely  appealed  to?  Which  picture  in 
the  poem  is  the  most  vivid?    Which  is  the  most  imaginative? 


THE   CONFEDERATE  SOLDIER   AFTER   THE   WAR1 
Henry  Woodfen  Grady 

You  of  the  North  have  had  drawn  for  you  with  a 
master's  hand  the  picture  of  your  returning  armies.  You 
have  heard  how,  in  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  war, 
they  came  back  to  you,  marching  with  proud  and  vic- 
torious tread,  reading  their  glory  in  a  nation's  eyes!  5 
Will  you  bear  with  me  while  I  tell  you  of  another  army 
that  sought  its  home  at  the  close  of  the  late  war  —  an 
army  that  marched  home  in  defeat  and  not  in  victory, 
in  pathos  and  not  in  splendor,  but  in  glory  that  equalled 
yours,  and  to  hearts  as  loving  as  ever  welcomed  heroes  10 
home  ?  Let  me  picture  to  you  the  footsore  Confederate 
soldier,  as,  buttoning  up  in  his  faded  gray  jacket  the 
parole  which  was  to  bear  testimony  to  his  children  of 

1  Reprinted  from  "The  New  South,"  by  permission  of  Robert  Bonner's 
Sons,  publishers  of  the  New  York  Ledger. 

5.  The  last  seven  words  are  a  quotation  from  Gray's  famous  Elegy 
written  in  a  Country  Churchyard.  Mr.  Grady  does  not  use  quotation 
marks  here,  for  he  assumes  that  his  audience  will  recognize  the  quotation. 
The  words  thus  treated  may  be  called  an  embedded  quotation.  11-54.  Note 
that  the  skilful  orator  understands  the  power  of  images. 


I22  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

his  fidelity  and  faith,  he  turned  his  face  southward 
from  Appomattox  in  April,  1865.  Think  of  him  as  15 
ragged,  half-starved,  heavy-hearted,  enfeebled  by  want 
and  wounds ;  having  fought  to  exhaustion,  he  surrenders 
his  gun,  wrings  the  hands  of  his  comrades  in  silence, 
and  lifting  his  tear-stained  and  pallid  face  for  the  last 
time  to  the  graves  that  dot  the  old  Virginia  hills,  pulls  20 
his  gray  cap  over  his  brow  and  begins  the  slow  and 
painful  journey.  What  does  he  find  —  let  me  ask  you, 
who  went  to  your  homes  eager  to  find  in  the  welcome 
you  had  justly  earned,  full  payment  for  four  years'  sac- 
rifice—  what  does  he  find  when,  having  followed  the  25 
battle-stained  cross  against  overwhelming  odds,  dread- 
ing death  not  half  so  much  as  surrender,  he  reaches  the 
home  he  left  so  prosperous  and  beautiful?  He  finds  his 
house  in  ruins,  his  farm  devastated,  his  slaves  free,  his 
stock  killed,  his  barns  empty,  his  trade  destroyed,  3° 
his  money  worthless;  his  social  system,  feudal  in  its 
magnificence,  swept  away;  his  people  without  law  or 
legal  status,  his  comrades  slain,  and  the  burdens  of 
others  heavy  on  his  shoulders.  Crushed  by  defeat,  his 
very  traditions  are  gone;  without  money,  credit,  em-  35 
ployment,  material,  or  training;  and  besides  all  this, 
confronted  with  the  gravest  problem  that  ever  met 
human  intelligence  —  the  establishing  of  a  status  for  the 
vast  body  of  his  liberated  slaves. 

What  does  he  do  —  this  hero  in  gray  with  a  heart  of  40 
gold?  Does  he  sit  down  in  sullenness  and  despair? 
Not  for  a  day.  Surely  God,  who  had  stripped  him  of 
his  prosperity,  inspired  him  in  his  adversity.  As  ruin 
was  never  before  so  overwhelming,  never  was  restoration 
swifter.  The  soldier  stepped  from  the  trenches  into  the  45 
furrow;  horses  that  had  charged  Federal  guns  marched 
before  the  plough,  and  fields  that  ran  red  with  blood  in 


THE  HEROISM  OF  PEACE 


123 


April  were  green  with  the  harvest  in  June.  Never  was 
nobler  duty  confided  to  human  hands  than  the  uplifting 
and  building  of  the  prostrate  and  bleeding  South,  mis-  50 
guided,  perhaps,  but  beautiful  in  her  suffering;  and 
honest,  brave,  and  generous  always.  In  the  record  of 
her  social,  industrial,  and  political  evolution  we  await 
with  confidence  the  verdict  of  the  world. 


THE  ARSENAL  AT   SPRINGFIELD 
Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

This  is  the  Arsenal.     From  floor  to  ceiling, 
Like  a  huge  organ,  rise  the  burnished  arms; 

But  from  their  silent  pipes  no  anthem  pealing 
Startles  the  villages  with  strange  alarms. 

Ah !  what  a  sound  will  rise,  how  wild  and  dreary,  5 

When  the  death-angel  touches  those  swift  keys ! 

What  loud  lament  and  dismal  Miserere 
Will  mingle  with  their  awful  symphonies ! 

I  hear  even  now  the  infinite  fierce  chorus, 

The  cries  of  agony,  the  endless  groan,  10 

Which,  through  the  ages  that  have  gone  before  us, 

In  long  reverberations  reach  our  own. 

On  helm  and  harness  rings  the  Saxon  hammer, 

Through  Cimbric  forest  roars  the  Norseman's  song, 

And  loud,  amid  the  universal  clamor,  15 

O'er  distant  deserts  sounds  the  Tartar  gong. 

I  hear  the  Florentine,  who  from  his  palace 
Wheels  out  his  battle-bell  with  dreadful  din, 

And  Aztec  priests  upon  their  teocallis 

Beat  the  wild  war-drums  made  of  serpent's  skin;  20 


124 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


The  tumult  of  each  sacked  and  burning  village; 

The  shout  that  every  prayer  for  mercy  drowns; 
The  soldiers'  revels  in  the  midst  of  pillage; 

The  wail  of  famine  in  beleaguered  towns; 

The  bursting  shell,  the  gateway  wrenched  asunder,  25 

The  rattling  musketry,  the  clashing  blade; 

And  ever  and  anon,  in  tones  of  thunder, 
The  diapason  of  the  cannonade. 

Is  it,  O  man,  with  such  discordant  noises, 

With  such  accursed  instruments  as  these,  30 

Thou  drownest  Nature's  sweet  and  kindly  voices, 

And  j arrest  the  celestial  harmonies? 

Were  half  the  power,  that  fills  the  world  with  terror, 
Were  half  the  wealth,  bestowed  on  camps  and  courts, 

Given  to  redeem  the  human  mind  from  error,  35 

There  were  no  need  of  arsenals  nor  forts : 

The  warrior's  name  would  be  a  name  abhorred! 

And  every  nation,  that  should  lift  again 
Its  hand  against  a  brother,  on  its  forehead 

Would  wear  for  evermore  the  curse  of  Cain !  40 

Down  the  dark  future,  through  long  generations, 
The  echoing  sounds  grow  fainter  and  then  cease; 

And  like  a  bell,  with  solemn,  sweet  vibrations, 

I  hear  once  more  the  voice  of  Christ  say,  "  Peace !  " 

Peace  !  and  no  longer  from  its  brazen  portals  45 

The  blast  of  War's  great  organ  shakes  the  skies! 

But  beautiful  as  songs  of  the  immortals, 
The  holy  melodies  of  love  arise. 

Does  Longfellow  succeed  in  carrying  the  image  of  the  organ  through 
the  poem? 

Does  the  poet  make  his  appeal  chiefly  to  the  eye  or  to  the  ear?     Why? 
What  emotions  does  the  poem  arouse? 


THE  HEROISM   OF  PEACE  i2$ 


THE  THREE   FISHERS 
Charles  Kingsley 

Three  fishers  went  sailing  out  into  the  West, 

Out  into  the  West  as  the  sun  went  down; 
Each  thought  on  the  woman  who  lov'd  him  the  best; 

And  the  children  stood  watching  them  out  of  the  town; 
For  men  must  work,  and  women  must  weep,  5 

And  there's  little  to  earn,  and  many  to  keep, 
Though  the  harbor  bar  be  moaning. 

Three  wives  sat  up  in  the  light-house  tower, 

And  they  trimm'd  the  lamps  as  the  sun  went  down; 

They  look'd  at  the  squall,  and  they  look'd  at  the  shower,    10 
And  the  night  rack  came  rolling  up  ragged  and  brown ! 

But  men  must  work,  and  women  must  weep, 

Though  storms  be  sudden,  and  waters  deep, 
And  the  harbor  bar  be  moaning. 

Three  corpses  lay  out  on  the  shining  sands  15 

In  the  morning  gleam  as  the  tide  went  down, 

And  the  women  are  weeping  and  wringing  their  hands 
For  those  who  will  never  come  back  to  the  town; 

For  men  must  work,  and  women  must  weep, 

And  the  sooner  it's  over,  the  sooner  to  sleep —  20 

And  good-by  to  the  bar  and  its  moaning. 

This  poem  has  often  been  set  to  music  —  a  pretty  sure  sign  that  it  is 
melodious.     Is  the  refrain  impressive? 

Is  the  story  told  continuously,  or  by  scenes?  Which  is  the  better  way 
for  a  narrative  song?     Why? 


126  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


A   SEA   STORY 
Emily  H.  Hickey 

Silence.     Awhile  ago 
Shrieks  went  up  piercingly; 
But  now  is  the  ship  gone  down; 
Good  ship,  well  manned,  was  she. 
There's  a  raft  that's  a  chance  of  life  for  one,  5 

This  day  upon  the  sea. 

A  chance  for  one  of  two; 
Young,  strong,  are  he  and  he, 
Just  in  the  manhood  prime, 

The  comelier,  verily,  10 

For  the  wrestle  with  wind  and  weather  and  wave 
In  the  life  upon  the  sea. 

One  of  them  has  a  wife 
And  little  children  three; 

Two  that  can  toddle  and  lisp,  15 

And  a  suckling  on  the  knee; 
Naked  they'll  go  and  hunger  sore, 
If  he  be  lost  at  sea. 

One  has  a  dream  of  home, 

A  dream  that  well  may  be;  20 

He  never  has  breathed  it  yet; 
She  never  has  known  it,  she. 
But  some  one  will  be  sick  at  heart, 
If  he  be  lost  at  sea. 


THE  HEROISM   OF  PEACE  i2J 

"  Wife  and  kids  at  home !  —  25 

Wife,  kids,  nor  home  has  he !  — 

Give  us  a  chance,  Bill !  "     Then, 

* All  right,  Jem!"     Quietly 

A  man  gives  up  his  life  for  a  man, 

This  day  upon  the  sea.  30 

Is  this  poem  as  musical  as  The  Three  Fishers  ?  Which  of  the  stanzas 
would  sing  best?  Is  the  refrain  impressive?  Would  the  narrative  in  the 
last  stanza  be  more  or  less  impressive  if  it  were  less  condensed  and 
abrupt? 


PATROLING   BARNEGAT1 
Walt  Whitman 

Wild,  wild  the  storm,  and  the  sea  high  running, 
Steady  the  roar  of  the  gale,  with  incessant  undertone  mut- 
tering, 
Shouts  of  demoniac  laughter  fitfully  piercing  and  pealing, 
Waves,  air,  midnight,  their  savagest  trinity  lashing, 
Out  in  the  shadows  there  milk-white  combs  careering,         5 
On  beachy  slush  and  sand  spirts  of  snow  fierce  slanting, 
Where  through  the  murk  the  easterly  death-wind  breasting, 
Through    cutting    swirl    and   spray  watchful   and  firm  ad- 
vancing, 
(That  in  the  distance  !   is  that  a  wreck?  is  the  red  signal 

flaring?) 
Slush  and  sand  of  the  beach  tireless  till  daylight  wending,  10 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  of  Small,  Maynard,  &  Co. 

4.  This  vague  line  apparently  means  that  waves,  air,  and  midnight  are 
lashing  themselves  together  in  the  savagest  possible  trinity.  Possibly  it 
means  that  the  midnight  air  is  lashing  the  waves  into  spray ;  but  it  doesn't 
succeed  in  saying  so. 


I28  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Steadily,  slowly,  through  hoarse  roar  never  remitting, 
Along  the  midnight  edge  by  those  milk-white  combs  careering, 
A  group  of  dim,  weird  forms,  struggling,  the  night  confronting, 
That  savage  trinity  warily  watching. 

Is  the  poem  metrical  or  only  rhythmical  ?  Read  it  through  line  by  line 
for  the  images,  which  are  startlingly  vivid.  Few  poems  appeal  so  strongly 
and  wholesomely  to  the  senses  of  touch  and  muscular  exertion.  Note  how 
the  fierce  sounds  come  first,  then  a  splash  of  white,  then  muscular  exertion, 
then  sharp  sensations  on  the  face,  then  a  splash  of  red,  then  more  muscular 
exertion,  then  more  white,  and  finally  a  dim  picture. 


AN   INCIDENT   OF  THE   FIRE   AT   HAMBURGH 
James  Russell  Lowell 

The  tower  of  old  Saint  Nicholas  soared  upward  to  the  skies, 
Like  some  huge  piece  of  Nature's  make,  the  growth  of  cen- 
turies; 
You  could  not  deem  its  crowding  spires  a  work  of  human  art, 
They  seemed  to  struggle  lightward  so  from  a  sturdy  living 
heart. 

Not  Nature's  self  more  freely  speaks  in  crystal  or  in  oak     5 
Than,  through  the  pious  builder's  hand,  in  that  gray  pile  she 

spoke ; 
And  as  from  acorn  springs  the  oak,  so,  freely  and  alone, 
Sprang  from  his  heart  this  hymn  to  God,  sung  in  obedient 

stone. 

It  seemed  a  wondrous  freak  of  chance,  so  perfect,  yet  so 
rough, 

A  whim  of  Nature  crystallized  slowly  in  granite  tough  ;       10 

The  thick  spires  yearned  toward  the  sky  in  quaint  harmo- 
nious lines, 

And  in  broad  sunlight  basked  and  slept,  like  a  grove  of 
blasted  pines. 


THE  HEROISM  OF  PEACE 


129 


Never  did  rock  or  stream  or  tree  lay  claim  with  better  right 
To  all  the  adorning  sympathies  of  shadow  and  of  light ; 
And,  in  that  forest  petrified,  as  forester  there  dwells  15 

Stout  Herman,  the  old  sacristan,  sole  lord  of  all  its  bells. 

Surge  leaping  after  surge,  the  fire  roared  onward,  red  as 

blood, 
Till  half  of  Hamburgh  lay  engulfed  beneath  the  eddying 

flood; 
For  miles  away,  the  fiery  spray  poured  down  its  deadly  rain, 
And  back  and  forth  the  billows  drew,  and  paused,  and  broke 

again.  20 

From  square  to  square,  with  tiger  leaps,  still  on  and  on  it 

came ; 
The  air  to  leeward  trembled  with  the  pantings  of  the  flame, 
And  church  and  palace,  which  even  now  stood  whelmed  but 

to  the  knee, 
Lift  their  black  roofs  like  breakers  lone  amid  the  rushing  sea. 

Up  in  his  tower  old  Herman  sat  and  watched  with  quiet 
look ;  25 

His  soul  had  trusted  God  too  long  to  be  at  last  forsook  : 
He  could  not  fear,  for  surely  God  a  pathway  would  unfold 
Through  this  red  sea,  for  faithful  hearts,  as  once  he  did  of  old. 

But  scarcely  can  he  cross  himself,  or  on  his  good  saint  call, 
Before   the   sacrilegious   flood   o'erleaped    the  churchyard 

wall,  30 

And,  ere  a  pater  half  was  said,  'mid  smoke  and  crackling 

glare, 
His  island  tower  scarce  juts  its  head  above  the  wide  despair. 

31.  pater  (the  a  like  a  in  day),  the  Lord's  Prayer  in  Latin. 
K 


!30  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Upon    the    peril's    desperate    peak    his    heart    stood   up 

sublime ; 
His  first  thought  was  for  God  above,  his  next  was  for  his 

chime ; 
"  Sing  now,  and  make  your  voices  heard  in  hymns  of  praise," 

cried  he,  35 

"  As  did  the  Israelites  of  old,  safe-walking  through  the  sea  ! 

"  Through  this  red  sea  our  God  hath  made  our  pathway  safe 

to  shore ; 
Our  promised  land  stands  full  in  sight ;  shout  now  as  ne'er 

before." 
And,  as  the  tower  came  crashing  down,  the  bells,  in  clear 

accord, 
Pealed  forth  the  grand  old  German  hymn  —  "  All  good  souls 

praise  the  Lord  !  "  40 


'WARE   HOLES* 

A.  CONAN   DOYLE 

['Ware  Holes !  is  the  expression  used  in  the  hunting-field  to  warn  those 
behind  against  rabbit-burrows  or  other  such  dangers.] 

A  sportin'  death  !     My  word  it  was  ! 

An'  taken  in  a  sportin'  way. 
Mind  you,  I  wasn't  there  to  see ; 

I  only  tell  you  what  they  say. 

They  found  that  day  at  Shillinglee,  5 

An'  ran  'im  down  to  Chillinghurst ; 

The  fox  was  goin'  straight  an'  free 
For  ninety  minutes  at  a  burst. 

J  From  "  Songs  of  Action,"  Copyright,  1898,  by  Doubleday  &  McClure  Co. 


THE  HEROISM   OF  PEACE  ^ 

They  'ad  a  check  at  Ebernoe 

An'  made  a  cast  across  the  Down,  10 

Until  they  got  a  view  'olio 

An'  chased  'im  up  to  Kirdford  town. 

From  Kirdford  'e  run  Bramber  way, 

An'  took  'em  over  'arf  the  Weald. 
If  you  'ave  tried  the  Sussex  clay,  15 

You'll  guess  it  weeded  out  the  field. 

Until  at  last  I  don't  suppose 

As  'arf  a  dozen,  at  the  most, 
Came  safe  to  where  the  grassland  goes 

Switchbackin'  southwards  to  the  coast.  20 

Young  Captain  'Eadley,  'e  was  there, 

And  Jim  the  whip  an'  Percy  Day ; 
The  Purcells  an'  Sir  Charles  Adair, 

An'  this  'ere  gent  from  London  way. 

For  'e  'ad  gone  amazin'  fine,  25 

Two  'undred  pounds  between  'is  knees ; 

Eight  stone  he  was,  an'  rode  at  nine, 
As  light  an'  limber  as  you  please. 

'E  was  a  stranger  to  the  'Unt, 

There  weren't  a  person  as  'e  knew  there ;  30 

But  'e  could  ride,  that  London  gent — 

'E  sat  'is  mare  as  if  'e  grew  there. 

They  seed  the  'ounds  upon  the  scent, 

But  found  a  fence  across  their  track, 
And  'ad  to  fly  it  j  else  it  meant  35 

A  turnin'  and  a  'arkin'  back. 


!32  STUDY   OF  LITERATURE 

'E  was  the  foremost  at  the  fence, 

And  as  'is  mare  just  cleared  the  rail 
He  turned  to  them  that  rode  be'ind, 

For  three  was  at  'is  very  tail.  40 

"  'Ware  'oles  !  "  says  'e,  an'  with  the  word, 

Still  sittin*  easy  on  his  mare, 
Down,  down  'e  went,  an'  down  an'  down, 

Into  the  quarry  yawnin'  there. 

Some  say  it  was  two  'undred  foot ;  45 

The  bottom  lay  as  black  as  ink. 
I  guess  they  'ad  some  ugly  dreams, 

Who  reined  their  'orses  on  the  brink. 

'E'd  only  time  for  that  one  cry ; 

"  'Ware  'oles  ! "  says  'e,  an'  saves  all  three.  5° 

There  may  be  better  deaths  to  die, 

But  that  one's  good  enough  for  me. 

For  mind  you,  'twas  a  sportin'  end, 

Upon  a  right  good  sportin'  day ; 
They  think  a  deal  of  'im  down  'ere,  55 

That  gent  what  came  from  London  way. 

Sketch  the  character  of  the  groom  who  is  telling  the  story.     Give  your 
warrant  for  every  statement. 

ENTER   PATIENT1 

William  Ernest  Henley 

The  morning  mists  still  haunt  the  stony  street ; 
The  northern  summer  air  is  shrill  and  cold ; 
And  lo,  the  Hospital,  gray,  quiet,  old, 
Where  Life  and  Death  like  friendly  chafiferers  meet. 

1  Reprinted  from  "  Poems,"  by  permission  of  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 
4.  Here  is  a  striking  simile.     How  can  Life  and   Death  be  said  to 
chaffer  together  ? 


THE  HEROISM   OF  PEACE  133 

Thro'  the  loud  spaciousness  and  draughty  gloom  5 

A  small  strange  child  —  so  aged  yet  so  young  !  — 

Her  little  arm  besplintered  and  beslung, 

Precedes  me  gravely  to  the  waiting-room. 

I  limp  behind,  my  confidence  all  gone, 

The  gray-haired  soldier  porter  waves  me  on,  10 

And  on  I  crawl,  and  still  my  spirits  fail : 

A  tragic  meanness  seems  so  to  environ 

These  corridors  and  stairs  of  stone  and  iron, 

Cold,  naked,  clean  —  half- workhouse  and  half-jail. 

5.  Why  does  not  Mr.  Henley  say  something  like  loud,  spacious  room, 
and  draughty,  gloomy  place?  Is  it  merely  a  desire  to  save  words  ?  Did 
the  child  probably  think  of  the  room  ?  13.  environ  usually  means  to  sur- 
round. Here  is  merely  meant  that  the  air  of  tragic  meanness  is  associated 
with  the  corridors  and  stairs. 

OPERATION  " 
William  Ernest  Henley 

You  are  carried  in  a  basket, 

Like  a  carcase  from  the  shambles, 

To  the  theatre,  a  cockpit, 

Where  they  stretch  you  on  a  table. 

Then  they  bid  you  close  your  eyelids,  5 

And  they  mask  you  with  a  napkin, 

And  the  anaesthetic  reaches 

Hot  and  subtle  through  your  being. 

And  you  gasp  and  reel  and  shudder 

In  a  rushing,  swaying  rapture,  10 

While  the  voices  at  your  elbow 

Fade  —  receding  —  fainter  —  farther. 

1  Reprinted  from  "Poems,"  by  permission  of  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 
2.    shambles,   slaughter-house.      7.    anaesthetic,    a  numbing   drug,    like 
chloroform  or  ether. 


I34  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Lights  about  you  shower  and  tumble, 
And  your  blood  seems  crystallizing  — 
Edged  and  vibrant,  yet  within  you  15 

Racked  and  hurried  back  and  forward. 

Then  the  lights  grow  fast  and  furious, 

And  you  hear  a  noise  of  waters, 

And  you  wrestle,  blind  and  dizzy, 

In  an  agony  of  effort,  20 

Till  a  sudden  lull  accepts  you, 
And  you  sound  an  utter  darkness  .  .  . 
And  awaken  .  .  .  with  a  struggle  .  .  . 
On  a  hushed,  attentive  audience. 

15.  vibrant,  that  is,  pulsing,  blood  is  clear  enough ;  edged  is  harder  to 
understand,  but  it  probably  meant  something  to  the  patient. 

The  curious  thing  about  this  powerful  poem  is  that  it  deals  with  physical 
sensations  that  seem  within  the  nerves,  not  produced  by  outside  sights  and 
sounds.    Why  do  we  not  miss  the  rhyme  very  much  ? 


IN   THE   CHILDREN'S   HOSPITAL 
Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 

EMMIE 

I 
Our  doctor  had  calPd  in  another,  I  never  had  seen  him 

before, 
But  he  sent  a  chill  to  my  heart  when  I  saw  him  come  in  at 

the  door, 
Fresh  from  the  surgery-schools  of   France  and  of  other 

lands  — 
Harsh  red  hair,  big  voice,  big  chest,  big  merciless  hands ! 
Wonderful  cures  he  had  done,  O  yes,  but  they  said  too  of 

him  5 


THE  HEROISM   OF  PEACE  ^ 

He  was  happier  using  the  knife  than  in  trying  to  save  the 

limb, 
And  that  I  can  well  believe,  for  he  look'd  so  coarse  and  so 

red, 
I  could  think  he  was  one  of  those  who  would  break  their 

jests  on  the  dead, 
And  mangle  the  living  dog  that  had  loved  him  and  fawn'd 

at  his  knee  — 
Drench'd  with  the  hellish  oorali  —  that  ever  such  things 

should  be !  10 


Here  was  a  boy  —  I  am  sure  that  some  of  our  children 

would  die 
But  for  the  voice  of  Love,  and  the  smile,  and  the  com- 
forting eye  — 
Here  was  a  boy  in  the  ward,  every  bone  seem'd  out  of  its 

place  — 
Caught  in  a  mill  and  crush'd  —  it  was  all  but  a  hopeless 

case: 
And  he  handled  him  gently  enough;  but  his  voice  and  his 

face  were  not  kind,  15 

And  it  was  but  a  hopeless  case,  he  had  seen  it  and  made  up 

his  mind, 
And  he  said  to  me  roughly,  "The  lad  will  need  little  more 

of  your  care." 
"All  the  more  need,"  I  told  him,  "to  seek  the  Lord  Jesus 

in  prayer; 
They  are  all  his  children  here,  and  I  pray  for  them  all  as 

my  own :  " 
But  he  turn'd  to  me,  "Ay,  good  woman,  can  prayer  set  a 

broken  bone?  "  20 

io.  oorali,  an  anaesthetic  drug. 


!36  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Then  he  mutter'd  half  to  himself,  but  I  know  that  I  heard 

him  say, 
"All  very  well  —  but  the  good  Lord  Jesus  has  had  his  day." 

in 

Had?  has  it  come?     It  has  only  dawn'd.     It  will  come  by 

and  by. 
O  how  could  I  serve  in  the  wards  if  the  hope  of  the  world 

were  a  lie? 
How  could  I  bear  with  the  sights  and  the  loathsome  smells 

of  disease  25 

But  that  He  said,  "Ye  do  it  to  me,  when  ye  do  it  to  these  "  ? 

IV 

So  he  went.     And  we  past  to  this  ward  where  the  younger 

children  are  laid : 
Here  is  the  cot  of  our  orphan,  our  darling,  our  meek  little 

maid; 
Empty  you  see  just  now !     We  have  lost  her  who  loved  her 

so  much  — 
Patient  of  pain  tho'  as  quick  as  a  sensitive  plant  to  the 

touch;  30 

Hers  was  the  prettiest  prattle,  it  often  moved  me  to  tears, 
Hers  was  the  gratefullest  heart  I  have  found  in  a  child  of 

her  years  — 
Nay  you  remember  our  Emmie;  you  used  to  send  her  the 

flowers; 
How  she  would  smile  at  'em,  play  with  'em,  talk  to  'em 

hours  after  hours ! 
They  that  can  wander  at  will  where  the  works  of  the  Lord 

are  reveal' d  35 

Little  guess  what  joy  can  be  got  from  a  cowslip  out  of  the 

field; 


THE  HEROISM   OF  PEACE 


137 


Flowers  to  these  "  spirits  in  prison  "  are  all  they  can  know 

of  the  spring, 
They  freshen  and  sweeten  the  wards  like  the  waft  of  an 

Angel's  wing; 
And  she  lay  with  a  flower  in  one  hand  and  her  thin  hands 

crost  on  her  breast  — 
Wan,  but  as  pretty  as  heart  can  desire,  and  we  thought  her 

at  rest,  40 

Quietly  sleeping  —  so  quiet,  our  doctor  said,  "  Poor  little 

dear, 
Nurse,  I  must  do  it  to-morrow;  she'll  never  live  thro'  it,  I 

fear." 


I  walk'd  with  our  kindly  old  doctor  as  far  as  the  head  of 

the  stair, 
Then  I  return' d  to  the  ward;  the  child  didn't  see  I  was 

there. 


VI 

Never  since  I  was  nurse,  had  I  been  so  grieved  and  so 

vext !  45 

Emmie  had  heard  him.     Softly  she  call'd  from  her  cot  to 

the  next, 
"He  says  I  shall  never  live  thro'  it,  O  Annie,  what  shall  I 

do?" 
Annie  consider'd.     "  If  I,"  said  the  wise  little  Annie,  "was 

you, 
I  should  cry  to  the  dear  Lord  Jesus  to  help  me,  for,  Emmie, 

you  see, 
It's  all  in  the  picture  there:  'Little  children  should  come 

tome.'"  50 


138  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

(Meaning  the  print  that  you  gave  us,  I  find  that  it  always 
can  please 

Our  children,  the  dear  Lord  Jesus  with  children  about  his 
knees.) 

"Yes,  and  I  will,"  said  Emmie,  "but  then  if  I  call  to  the 
Lord, 

How  should  he  know  that  it's  me?  such  a  lot  of  beds  in 
the  ward ! "  54 

That  was  a  puzzle  for  Annie.    Again  she  consider'd  and  said, 

"Emmie,  you  put  out  your  arms,  and  you  leave  'em  out- 
side on  the  bed  — 

The  Lord  has  so  much  to  see  to !  but,  Emmie,  you  tell  it 
him  plain, 

It's  the  little  girl  with  her  arms  lying  out  on  the  coun- 
terpane." 

VII 

I  had  sat  three  nights  by  the  child  —  I  could  not  watch  her 
for  four  —  59 

My  brain  had  begun  to  reel  —  I  felt  I  could  do  it  no  more. 

That  was  my  sleeping-night,  but  I  thought  that  it  never 
would  pass. 

There  was  a  thunderclap  once,  and  a  clatter  of  hail  on  the 
glass, 

And  there  was  a  phantom  cry  that  I  heard  as  I  tost  about, 

The  motherless  bleat  of  a  lamb  in  the  storm  and  the  dark- 
ness without; 

My  sleep  was  broken  besides  with  dreams  of  the  dreadful 
knife  65 

And  fears  for  our  delicate  Emmie  who  scarce  would  escape 
with  her  life; 

Then  in  the  gray  of  the  morning  it  seem'd  she  stood  by 
me  and  smiled, 

And  the  doctor  came  at  his  hour,  and  we  went  to  see  to  the 
child. 


THE  HEROISM   OF  PEACE  l$g 

VIII 

He  had  brought  his  ghastly  tools :  we  believed  her  asleep 
again  — 

Her  dear,  long,  lean,  little  arms  lying  out  on  the  counter- 
pane ;  70 

Say  that  His  day  is  done !  Ah  j  why  should  we  care  what 
they  say? 

The  Lord  of  the  children  had  heard  her,  and  Emmie  had 
past  away. 

The  stanzas  are  of  unequal  length ;  does  each  represent  a  real  step  ? 
Has  the  poem  plot,  i.e.  does  it  arouse  suspense?  If  so,  at  what  line  is 
the  suspense  finally  relieved?  Is  the  poem  simple  or  complex  in  thought  ? 
Is  it  pathetic?    Is  it  gloomy  or  serene  in  spirit? 


SAN   LORENZO  GIUSTINIANI'S  MOTHER1 

Alice  Meynell 

I  had  not  seen  my  son's  dear  face 
(He  chose  the  cloister  by  God's  grace) 
Since  it  had  come  to  full  flower-time 
I  hardly  guessed  at  its  perfect  prime, 
That  folded  flower  of  his  dear  face.  5 

Mine  eyes  were  veiled  by  mists  of  tears 

When  on  a  day  in  many  years 

One  of  his  Order  came.     I  thrilled, 
Facing,  I  thought,  that  face  fulfilled. 

I  doubted,  for  my  mists  of  tears.  10 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  of  Mr.  John  Lane.  The  author's  name  is 
pronounced  Mennell. 

5.  The  folded  fiower  perhaps  means  that  the  son's  face  was  quiet  in  its 
beauty,  like  a  flower  folded  at  night.  8.  Order,  religious  order  of  monks  ; 
thus,  the  Order  of  St.  Francis,  or  Franciscan  order. 


!40  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

His  blessing  be  with  me  forever ! 

My  hope  and  doubt  were  hard  to  sever. 

—  That  altered  face,  those  holy  weeds. 

I  filled  his  wallet  and  kissed  his  beads, 
And  lost  his  echoing  feet  forever.  15 

If  to  my  son  my  alms  were  given 
I  know  not,  and  I  wait  for  Heaven. 

He  did  not  plead  for  child  of  mine, 

But  for  another  Child  divine, 
And  unto  Him  it  was  surely  given.  2° 

There  is  One  alone  who  cannot  change; 
Dreams  are  we,  shadows,  visions  strange; 

And  all  I  give  is  given  to  One. 

I  might  mistake  my  dearest  son, 
But  never  the  Son  who  cannot  change.  25 

13.  weeds,  garments  of  sombre  hue.  The  Order  of  St.  Francis  wore 
rough  sack- cloth,  girt  with  a  rope  instead  of  a  girdle.  14.  wallet.  The 
travelling  friars  depended  on  charity  for  their  food.  22.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  well  to  write  a  paragraph  for  the  instructor,  explaining  your  idea  of  what 
Mrs.  Meynell  means  by  this  line. 


BARCLAY  OF  URY 
John  Greenleaf  Whittier 

Up  the  streets  of  Aberdeen, 
By  the  kirk  and  college  green, 

Rode  the  Laird  of  Ury; 
Close  behind  him,  close  beside, 
Foul  of  mouth  and  evil-eyed, 

Pressed  the  mob  in  fury. 


THE  HEROISM  OF  PEACE  l/±I 

Flouted  him  the  drunken  churl, 
Jeered  at  him  the  serving  girl, 

Prompt  to  please  her  master; 
And  the  begging  carlin,  late  10 

Fed  and  clothed  at  Ury's  gate, 

Cursed  him  as  he  passed  her. 

Yet,  with  calm  and  stately  mien, 
Up  the  streets  of  Aberdeen 

Came  he  slowly  riding;  15 

And,  to  all  he  saw  and  heard 
Answering  not  with  bitter  word, 

Turning  not  for  chiding. 

Came  a  troop  with  broadswords  swinging, 

Bits  and  bridles  sharply  ringing,  20 

Loose  and  free  and  forward ; 
Quoth  the  foremost,  "  Ride  him  down ! 
Push  him !  prick  him  !  through  the  town 

Drive  the  Quaker  coward !  " 

But  from  out  the  thickening  crowd  25 

Cried  a  sudden  voice  and  loud : 

"  Barclay !     Ho !  a  Barclay !  " 
And  the  old  man  at  his  side 
Saw  a  comrade,  battle  tried, 

Scarred  and  sunburned  darkly;  30 

Who  with  ready  weapon  bare, 
Fronting  to  the  troopers  there, 

Cried  aloud :  "  God  save  us ! 
Call  ye  coward  him  who  stood 
Ankle  deep  in  Lutzen's  blood,  35 

With  the  brave  Gustavus?" 

10.  carlin,  a  contemptuous  term  for  a  woman. 


142  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

"  Nay,  I  do  not  need  thy  sword, 
Comrade  mine,"  said  Ury's  lord; 

"  Put  it  up  I  pray  thee : 
Passive  to  His  holy  will,  40 

Trust  I  in  my  Master  still, 

Even  though  He  slay  me." 

"  Pledges  of  thy  love  and  faith, 
Proved  on  many  a  field  of  death, 

Not  by  me  are  needed."  45 

Marvelled  much  that  henchman  bold, 
That  his  laird,  so  stout  of  old, 

Now  so  meekly  pleaded. 

"Woe's  the  day,"  he  sadly  said, 

With  a  slowly  shaking  head,  50 

And  a  look  of  pity; 
"Ury's  honest  lord  reviled, 
Mock  of  knave  and  sport  of  child, 

In  his  own  good  city! 

"  Speak  the  word,  and,  master  mine,  53 

As  we  charged  on  Tilly's  line, 

And  his  Walloon  lancers, 
Smiting  through  their  midst  we'll  teach 
Civil  look  and  decent  speech 

To  these  boyish  prancers !  "  t-. 

"Marvel  not,  mine  ancient  friend, 
Like  beginning,  like  the  end :  " 

Quoth  the  Laird  of  Ury, 
"Is  the  sinful  servant  more 
Than  his  gracious  Lord  who  bore  65 

Bonds  and  stripes  in  Jewry? 


THE  HEROISM  OF  PEACE 


143 


"Give  me  joy  that  in  His  name 
I  can  bear,  with  patient  frame, 

All  these  vain  ones  offer; 
While  for  them  He  suffereth  long,  70 

Shall  I  answer  wrong  with  wrong, 

Scoffing  with  the  scoffer? 

"  Happier  I,  with  loss  of  all, 
Hunted,  outlawed,  held  in  thrall, 

With  few  friends  to  greet  me,  75 

Than  when  reeve  and  squire  were  seen, 
Riding  out  from  Aberdeen, 

With  bared  heads,  to  meet  me. 

"When  each  good  wife,  o'er  and  o'er, 

Blessed  me  as  I  passed  her  door;  80 

And  the  snooded  daughter, 
Through  her  casement  glancing  down, 
Smiled  on  him  who  bore  renown 

From  red  fields  of  slaughter. 

"Hard  to  feel  the  stranger's  scoff,  85 

Hard  the  old  friend's  falling  off, 

Hard  to  learn  forgiving: 
But  the  Lord  His  own  rewards, 
And  His  love  with  theirs  accords, 

Warm  and  fresh  and  living.  90 

"Through  this  dark  and  stormy  night 
Faith  beholds  a  feeble  light 

Up  the  blackness  streaking; 
Knowing  God's  own  time  is  best, 
In  a  patient  hope  I  rest  95 

For  the  full  day-breaking!  " 

76.  reeve,  an  officer  of  justice.    81.  snood,  a  head-band  worn  by  Scottish 
maidens. 


144  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

So  the  Laird  of  Ury  said, 
Turning  slow  his  horse's  head 

Toward  the  Tolbooth  prison, 
Where,  through  iron  gates,  he  heard  ioo 

Poor  disciples  of  the  Word 

Preach  of  Christ  arisen ! 

Not  in  vain,  Confessor  old, 
Unto  us  the  tale  is  told 

Of  thy  day  of  trial;  105 

Every  age  on  him,  who  strays 
From  its  broad  and  beaten  ways, 

Pours  its  sevenfold  vial. 

Happy  he  whose  inward  ear 

Angels  comfortings  can  hear,  no 

O'er  the  rabble's  laughter; 
And,  while  Hatred's  fagots  burn, 
Glimpses  through  the  smoke  discern 

Of  the  good  hereafter. 

Knowing  this,  that  never  yet  u5 

Share  of  Truth  was  vainly  set 

In  the  world's  wide  fallow; 
After  hands  shall  sow  the  seed, 
After  hands  from  hill  and  mead 

Reap  the  harvests  yellow.  120 

Thus,  with  somewhat  of  the  Seer, 
Must  the  moral  pioneer 

From  the  Future  borrow; 
Clothe  the  waste  with  dreams  of  grain, 
And,  on  midnight's  sky  of  rain,  125 

Paint  the  golden  morrow ! 


THE  HEROISM   OF  PEACE 


145 


LANDING  OF  THE   PILGRIM   FATHERS   IN   NEW 
ENGLAND 

Felicia  Browne  Hemans 

Look  now  abroad !     Another  race  has  fill'd 
Those  populous  borders  —  wide  the  wood  recedes, 

And  towns  shoot  up,  and  fertile  realms  are  till'd ; 

The  land  is  full  of  harvests  and  green  meads.  —  Bryant. 

The  breaking  waves  dash'd  high 

On  a  stern  and  rock-bound  coast, 
And  the  woods  against  a  stormy  sky 

Their  giant  branches  toss'd; 

And  the  heavy  night  hung  dark  5 

The  hills  and  waters  o'er, 
When  a  band  of  exiles  moor'd  their  bark 

On  the  wild  New  England  shore. 

Not  as  the  conqueror  comes, 

They,  the  true-hearted,  came;  10 

Not  with  the  roll  of  the  stirring  drums, 

And  the  trumpet  that  sings  of  fame; 

Not  as  the  flying  come, 

In  silence  and  in  fear;  — 
They  shook  the  depths  of  the  desert  gloom  15 

With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer. 

Amidst  the  storm  they  sang, 

And  the  stars  heard  and  the  sea; 
And  the  sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods  rang 

To  the  anthem  of  the  free !  20 


146  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

The  ocean  eagle  soared 

From  his  nest  by  the  white  wave's  foam; 
And  the  rocking  pines  of  the  forest  roared, — 

This  was  their  welcome  home ! 


There  were  men  with  hoary  hair,  25 

Amidst  that  pilgrim  band;  — 
Why  had  they  come  to  wither  there, 

Away  from  their  childhood's  land? 

There  was  woman's  fearless  eye, 

Lit  by  her  deep  love's  truth;  30 

There  was  manhood's  brow  serenely  high, 

And  the  fiery  heart  of  youth. 

What  sought  they  thus  afar? 

Bright  jewels  of  the  mine?. 
The  wealth  of  seas,  the  spoils  of  war?  35 

They  sought  a  faith's  pure  shrine ! 

Ay,  call  it  holy  ground, 

The  soil  where  first  they  trod ! 
They  left  unstained  what  there  they  found, — 

Freedom  to  worship  God !  40 


THE  TWENTY-SECOND   OF  DECEMBER 
William  Cullen  Bryant 

Wild  was  the  day;  the  wintry  sea 

Moaned  sadly  on  New  England's  strand, 

When  first,  the  thoughtful  and  the  free, 
Our  fathers,  trod  the  desert  land. 


THE  HEROISM  OF  PEACE  147 

They  little  thought  how  pure  a  light,  5 

With  years,  should  gather  round  that  day; 

How  love  should  keep  their  memories  bright, 
How  wide  a  realm  their  sons  should  sway. 


Green  are  their  bays;  but  greener  still 

Shall  round  their  spreading  fame  be  wreathed, 

And  regions,  now  untrod,  shall  thrill 

With  reverence,  when  their  names  are  breathed. 


Till  when  the  sun,  with  softer  fires, 

Looks  on  the  vast  Pacific's  sleep, 
The  children  of  the  pilgrim  sires  15 

This  hallowed  day  like  us  shall  keep. 


"A  MAN   MUST   LIVE"* 
Charlotte  Perkins  Stetson 

A  man  must  live.     We  justify 
Low  shift  and  trick  to  treason  high, 
A  little  vote  for  a  little  gold 
To  a  whole  senate  bought  and  sold, 
By  that  self-evident  reply. 

But  is  it  so  ?     Pray  tell  me  why 
Life  at  such  cost  you  have  to  buy? 
In  what  religion  were  you  told 
A  man  must  live? 

L  Reprinted  by  permission  of  Small,  Maynard,  &  Co. 


I48  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

,  There  are  times  when  a  man  must  die. 
Imagine,  for  a  battle-cry, 

From  soldiers,  with  a  sword  to  hold,- 
From  soldiers,  with  the  flag  unrolled,- 
This  coward's  whine,  this  liar's  lie, — 
A  man  must  live ! 


THE   HERO 
Robert  Nicoll 

My  hero  is  na  deck'd  wi'  gowd, 

He  has  nae  glittering  state; 
Renown  upon  a  field  o'  blood 

In  war  he  hasna  met. 
He  has  nae  siller  in  his  pouch,  5 

Nae  menials  at  his  ca'  j 
The  proud  o'  earth  frae  him  would  turn, 

And  bid  him  stand  awa'. 

His  coat  is  hame-spun  hodden-gray, 

His  shoon  are  clouted  sair,  10 

His  garments,  maist  unhero-like, 

Are  a'  the  waur  o'  wear : 
His  limbs  are  strong  —  his  shoulders  broad, 

His  hands  were  made  to  plough; 
He's  rough  without,  but  sound  within;  15 

His  heart  is  bauldly  true. 

He  toils  at  e'en,  he  toils  at  morn, 

His  wark  is  never  through; 
A  coming  life  o'  weary  toil 

Is  ever  in  his  view.  20 

1.  gowd,  gold.    9.  hodden-gray,  natural  color  of  the  wool.     10.  clouted, 
patched. 


THE  HEROISM   OF  PEACE  j^g 

But  on  he  trudges,  keeping  aye 

A  stout  heart  to  the  brae, 
And  proud  to  be  an  honest  man 

Until  his  dying  day. 


His  hame  a  hame  o'  happiness  25 

And  kindly  love  may  be; 
And  monie  a  nameless  dwelling-place 

Like  his  we  still  may  see. 
His  happy  altar-hearth  so  bright 

Is  ever  bleezing  there;  30 

And  cheerfu'  faces  rcund  it  set 

Are  an  unending  prayer. 

The  poor  man  in  his  humble  hame, 

Like  God,  who  dwells  aboon, 
Makes  happy  hearts  around  him  there,  35 

Sae  joyfu'  late  and  soon. 
His  toil  is  sair,  his  toil  is  lang; 

But  weary  nights  and  days, 
Hame  —  happiness  akin  to  his  — 

A  hunder-fauld  repays.  4° 

Go,  mock  at  conquerors  and  kings ! 

What  happiness  give  they? 
Go,  tell  the  painted  butterflies 

To  kneel  them  down  and  pray ! 
Go,  stand  erect  in  manhood's  pride,  45 

Be  what  a  man  should  be, 
Then  come,  and  to  my  hero  bend 

Upon  the  grass  your  knee ! 

22.  brae,  hillside,  precipice.     43-44.   Is  the  metaphor  mixed? 


150  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Plan  of  Summary. — Reviewing  the  chapter,  (i)  enumerate  the 
kinds  of  metre,  designating  them  by  the  number  of  accents  and  by  the 
predominant  foot.  Then  (2)  say  which  poem  is  most  noticeable  for 
melody;  (3)  which  for  beauty  of  suggested  sights;  (4)  which  for 
pleasure  of  suggested  sounds;  (5)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  activ- 
ity; (6)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  odors  or  tastes;  (7)  which 
is  most  easily  understood;  (8)  which  moves  the  reader  most  deeply; 
(9)  which  shows  most  skill  in  character  drawing;  (10)  which  has  the 
best  unity;  (11)  which,  your  critical  judgment  tells  you,  is  the  best 
piece  of  work;  (12)  which  you  like  the  best,  without  regard  to  its 
deserved  rank  or  its  fame. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  ATHLETE 

Art  admires  the  beauty  and  strength  of  the  human  body 
more  than  anything  else  in  the  physical  creation.  Greek 
sculpture,  the  world's  one  perfect  art,  was  devoted  entirely 
to  this  subject.  To  use  the  metaphor  of  a  famous  scholar, 
the  Greek  was  a  Narcissus,  gazing  enraptured  at  the  picture 
of  his  own  beauty  that  he  had  just  discovered  in  the  pool. 
The  Greek  artists  did  not,  it  is  true,  represent  men  exactly 
as  they  are,  though  the  Greek  race  was  just  then  at  its 
physical  perfection.  They  made  the  human  figure  less 
animal  than  it  usually  is,  refining  it  in  various  ways.  Their 
statues  are  not  so  true  to  nature  as  Michael  Angelo's,  but 
they  are  physically  more  beautiful.  The  so-called  Venus 
of  Melos  is  taller  than  most  women;  but  it  is  the  loveliest 
and  noblest  of  female  figures. 

The  worship  of  beauty  was  a  part  of  the  Greek's  religion. 
The  object  of  his  athletics  was  not  prize-money,  inter- 
collegiate renown,  or  the  exploitation  of  muscular  prodi- 
gies; it  was  the  development  of  grace  and  strength,  on 
the  ground  that  these  were  qualities  of  the  gods.  Accord- 
ingly any  particular  physical  gift  was  revered  and  cherished. 
Just  as  Homer  calls  attention  to  the  especial  beauty  of  each 
character, — the  silver-footed  Thetis,  the  snowy-armed 
Juno,  the  fair-cheeked  Briseis,  the  bright-eyed  Pallas,  the 
graceful  Paris,  the  yellow-haired  Menelaus,  —  so  the  Gre- 
cian master  of  the  games  looked  among  his  candidates  for 
one  whose  strength  of  arm  or  neck  or  thigh  might  make 
him  victor  in  one  special  strife.     Greece  was  rich  in  pan- 

l5* 


1 5  2  S  TUD  Y  OF  LIT  ERA  TURE 

athletes,  —  "all-round"  men, — but  one  secret  of  Greek 
athletics  lay  in  recognizing  that  neither  beauty  nor  strength 
is  often  symmetrically  developed.  Homer's  men  reveal 
the  principles  of  Greek  strength  and  beauty.  Homer  has 
an  Achilles,  unique  in  his  union  of  many  powers;  but  he 
has  many  heroes  famous  for  one  especial  strength.  Of 
the  two  Ajaces  the  first  is  a  giant,  frequently  likened  to  a 
tower,  while  the  second  is  famed  for  fleetness  of  foot. 
Even  when  a  Homeric  character  is  ugly  or  weak  in  one 
respect,  he  is  beautiful  or  strong  in  another.  Dolon  is  dis- 
torted in  face,  but  he  is  the  man  on  whose  nimbleness 
Hector  depends  for  the  safety  of  the  Trojans.  This 
reminds  us  of  the  handsome  Lord  Byron,  who,  in  spite  of 
mming,  his  deformed  foot,  was  an  expert  swimmer  —  as,  indeed, 
s6,         one  might  guess  from  his  lines  on  that  subject. 

Christians  saw  that  the  Greeks  had  cultivated  the  body 
to  the  detriment  of  the  soul.  In  the  Middle  Ages,  there- 
fore, the  body  was  not  honored  as  in  pagan  days.  A  pale 
complexion  was  supposed  to  mean  that  the  owner  had 
spent  the  night  in  fasting,  and  it  was  accordingly  consid- 
ered beautiful.  In  our  own  time  people  have  learned  that, 
as  Browning  puts  it,  body  helps  spirit  as  much  as  spirit 
body.  Nowadays  the  ideal  is  a  sound  mind  in  a  sound 
body.  We  think  no  human  body  perfectly  beautiful  unless 
a  gleam  of  kindly  intelligence  is  in  the  beautiful  eye,  and 
no  human  soul  wholly  admirable  unless  it  has  developed 
whatever  body  heaven  may  have  given  it  for  its  servant. 

The  scientist  Huxley,   sketching  the  liberally  educated 
man,  does  not  forget  to  say  that  his  ideal  scholar  "has  been 
;  so  trained  in  youth  that  his  body  is  the  ready  servant  of 

7ood°{  kis  wiU>  and  does  with  ease  and  pleasure  all  the  work  that, 
er,  as  a  mechanism,  it  is  capable  of."    Richard  Jefferies  draws 

57>  a   picture    of    the   wood-cutter   who   has   enormous   dead 

strength,   but   no   physical  training ;    the   man   in  whose 


THE  ATHLETE 


153 


muscles  is  no  mind.     Quickness  of  response  by  muscle  to 
will  is  one  of  the  chief  aims  in  athletics;  no  game  can  be 
successful  without  it.    It  is  illustrated  in  the  runner  —  who  The  Run- 
is  photographed  by  Walt  Whitman  just  when  the  will  has  ner>  p-  IS9< 
every  muscle  under  control.     It  is  better  illustrated  in  the 
football   player,  because  this  game  demands  weight  and 
fleetness,  and  an  electric  quickness  of  thought.     Football 
requires  a  very  difficult  thing, —  the  perfect  control  of  a 
large  frame.     A  sonnet  by  the  late  Edward  Lefroy  dwells  A  Football 
on  these  merits  of  the  individual  player.      He  is  heavy,    Player- 
but  open-eyed,  quick,  aggressive.     A  second  sonnet  by  the  childhood 
same  author  suggests   the   importance  of   the  very  same  and  Youth, 
qualities  in  a  team.     It   is   team-work  that  wins.     It  is  p'  x  °' 
characteristic  of  childish  play  to  be  hilarious  and  unor- 
ganized.    That  will  not  do  in  football;  the  men  must  take 
direction  and  keep   their  mouths  shut.     The  beauty  and 
effectiveness  of  organized,  perfectly  consonant  exertion  is 
shown  in  the  late  Judge  Hughes's  pictures  of  football  and 
boat-racing  in  "Tom  Brown."     The  working  of  such  a 
mechanism  as  a  well-trained  team  engaged  in  either  of 
these  sports  is  a  keen  satisfaction  to  the  eye. 

Different  individual  mechanisms  are  capable  of  different  The  Great 
things.      The  giant  John  Ridd,  who  is  the   hero  of  the   Wi^T' 
terrible  Devonshire  winter  in  Dr.  Blackmore's   novel  of 
"Lorna  Doone,"  had  muscles  which  enabled  him  to  tear 
gnarled  branches  from  oak  trees.     The  poet  Bryant,  on  the   Driven  be 
other  hand,  was  a  frail  lad  whom  his  father,  a  physician,   y°nd  En~ 

r    J  durance, 

used  to  dip  head  first  into  a  cold  spring  every  morning  to  p.  166. 
prevent  his  dying  of  too  big  a  brain.  Such  a  poet's  mus- 
cular power  would  never  be  very  large;  yet  Bryant,  by 
regular  exercise  for  an  hour  before  breakfast  and  a  two-mile 
walk  after  breakfast,  preserved  himself  in  perfect  physical 
condition  till  eighty.  Professor  Blackie,  the  famous  Greek 
scholar,  was  a  little  man,  but  our  astronomer  Newcomb 


54 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


described  him  as  "the  liveliest  little  man  of  sixty  he  ever 
saw."  Some  suggestion  of  how  Blackie  kept  himself  lively 
may  be  had  from  his  poem  My  Bath.  A  man  who  would 
habitually  plash  about  and  dash  about  in  the  foaming, 
bubbling  linn,  vying  with  the  glancing  trout  in  that  cloud- 
fed  fountain,  would  very  likely  remain  agile. 

When  we  are  in  perfect  health,  the  health  that  "  snuffs 
the  morning  air,"  we  are  almost  unconscious  of  our  bodies. 
All  we  feel  is  the  "prime  vigor"  that  Browning  celebrates 
in  Saul.  We  simply  know  that  the  machine  does  what  we 
want  it  to  do,  and  all  we  ask  for  is  exercise.  Browning  has 
chosen  the  moment  in  Saul's  life  when  the  king  is  grievously 
ill,  and  has  sent  for  David  to  sing  to  him  with  the  help  of 
the  harp.  The  whole  poem  is  a  guess  at  what  David  would 
sing  under  these  circumstances.  The  youth  tries  every 
kind  of  song  he  knows,  —  that  of  the  shepherd  to  his  sheep, 
those  which  appeal  to  the  quail,  the  crickets,  the  jerboa; 
that  of  the  reapers,  that  of  the  funeral,  that  of  the  marriage, 
that  of  the  priests,  and,  finally,  that  of  "our  manhood's 
prime  vigor."  With  every  muscle  playing  free,  the  strong 
man  springs  from  rock  up  to  rock,  and  plunges  into  the 
pool  of  living  water;  he  hunts  without  fear;  he  eats  with 
zest,  and  sleeps,  on  the  ground,  the  sleep  of  the  just. 

Whenever  the  poets  have  stopped  to  think  about  the  ways 
in  which  all  this  glorious  life  goes  on,  they  are  filled  with 
wonder.  One  sacred  writer  speaks  in  curious  Oriental 
imagery  of  the  nerve  as  the  silver  cord,  and  the  skull  as 
the  golden  bowl.  Another  calls  the  body  the  temple  of 
God.  The  physician-poet  Holmes  takes  this  last  image  for 
the  title  of  his  poem  on  the  human  body,  The  Living 
Temple.  He  sings  the  strange  mystery  of  the  breath  and 
the  unresting  heart;  the  living  marble  we  call  limbs;  the 
exquisite  adjustments  of  sight  and  hearing;  the  unsolved 
secret  of  brain  and  nerve.     Tennyson  has  a  poem  in  which 


THE  ATHLETE 


155 


he  speaks  of  the  dead  body  as  a  house  deserted  by  its  care- 
less tenants.     Edgar  Poe's  The  Haunted  Palace  is  a  still   The 
more  imaginative  conception.     It  shadows  forth  what  hap-   p^""*6 
pens  to  the  body  when  reason  fails.    There  was  once  a  stately  p.  179. 
palace  tenanted  by  good  angels.    "  Banners  yellow,  golden, 
glorious  on  its  roof  did  float  and  flow."   Through  two  lumi- 
-  nous  windows  were  seen  the  ruler  of  the  realm,  and  spirits  that 
moved  to  music.    But  now  all  is  changed.    The  windows  are 
red-litten,  and  through  the  pale  door  rush  hideous  things  that 
can  laugh,  —  as  the  insane  laugh,  —  but  cannot  smile. 

Physical   breakdown    of    any   organ    is   due   to  under- 
exercise,  or  over-exercise,  or  lack  of  proper  nutrition,  or 
poisoning  of   some  sort.     One  of  these  facts  was  never 
learned  by  a  poet-naturalist  of   our   own  time,   Richard 
Jefferies,  who  is  certainly  the  most  enthusiastic  writer  of 
our  century  concerning  the  beauty  of  the  human  body  and 
the  possibilities  of  its  improvement.     His  marvellous  ad-   The  Lyra 
miration  of   physical  strength,    shown  everywhere   in  his  p  jj' 
autobiography,  led  him  into  dangerous  excess  of  exercise. 
But  Jefferies  did  not  poison  himself.     In  this  respect  he 
was  wiser  than  Franklin,  who  exercised  so  little  that  he  got   Dialogue 
that  particular  form  of   blood-poisoning  called  the  gout.    petw^n 
He  was  wiser,  too,  than  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  dear  to  and  the 
all  boys.     The  latter,  like  Jefferies,  fought  a  heroic  battle   Gout> 
with   disease,   keeping  himself   alive  for  years   after  the 
doctors  had  told  him  he  must  soon  yield  to  phthisis;  but 
he  handicapped  his  vital  powers  desperately  by  surcharging 
his  system  with  nicotine. 

The  last  hero  in  this  chapter  is  Tennyson's  Sir  Galahad,1  Sir  Gala- 
who  sums  up  the  athletic  ideal  of  cleanness,  strength,  and     a  '  p* lgI' 

1  Galahad  was  one  of  the  knights  who  cherished  the  ideal  of  searching 
until  they  found  the  holy  cup,  the  grail,  from  which  Christ  drank  at  the  last 
supper.  Tennyson  regarded  such  a  search,  even  in  fable,  as  a  fanatic  and 
useless  one.  He  made  his  perfect  king,  Arthur,  refuse  to  join  in  the  quest. 
Arthur  stayed  at  home  and  attended  to  the  business  of  his  kingdom. 


1 56  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

courage,  with  the  added  grace  of  a  fine  idealism.  Tenny- 
son, himself  a  manly  figure,  broad-shouldered  and  lean- 
waisted,  liked  to  write  of  the  athletic  ideal.  His  best 
friend,  Hallam,  he  somewhere  calls  a  Galahad,  and  again 
praises  for  being  clean,  but  no  ascetic. 

High  nature  amorous  of  the  good, 

But  touched  with  no  ascetic  gloom. 
And  passion  pure  in  snowy  bloom 

Through  all  the  years  of  April  blood. 


SWIMMING 

George  Gordon  Noel,  Lord  Byron 

How  many  a  time  have  I 
Cloven,  with  arm  still  lustier,  breast  more  daring, 
The  wave  all  roughened;  with  a  swimmer's  stroke 
-     Flinging  the  billows  back  from  my  drenched  hair, 
And  laughing  from  my  lip  the  audacious  brine,  5 

Which  kissed  it  like  a  wine-cup,  rising  o'er 
The  waves  as  they  arose,  and  prouder  still 
The  loftier  they  uplifted  me;  and  oft, 
In  wantonness  of  spirit,  plunging  down 
Into  their  green  and  glassy  gulfs,  and  making  10 

My  way  to  shells  and  seaweed,  all  unseen 
By  those  above,  till  they  waxed  fearful;  then 
Returning  with  my  grasp  full  of  such  tokens 
As  showed  that  I  had  searched  the  deep;  exulting, 
With  a  far-dashing  stroke,  and  drawing  deep  15 

The  long-suspended  breath,  again  I  spurned 
The  foam  which  broke  around  me,  and  pursued 
My  track  like  a  sea-bird.  —  I  was  a  boy  then. 

The  metre  is  iambic  pentameter,  or  blank  verse.  Shakspere's  plays  are 
mostly  in  blank  verse,  and  Milton's  epic  poem  of  Paradise  Lost  is  in  the 
same  metre. 


157 


THE  ATHLETE 

THE  PHYSIQUE   OF   A  WOOD-CUTTER  > 

Richard  Jefferies 

He  was  standing  in  the  ditch  leaning  heavily  upon 
the  long  handle  of  his  axe.  It  was  a  straight  stick  of 
ash,  roughly  shaved  down  to  some  sort  of  semblance  of 
smoothness,  such  as  would  have  worked  up  an  unprac- 
tised hand  into  a  mass  of  blisters  in  ten  minutes'  usage,  5 
but  which  glided  easily  through  those  horny  palms, 
leaving  no  mark  of  friction.  The  continuous  outdoor 
labor,  the  beating  of  innumerable  storms,  and  the  hard, 
coarse  fare,  had  dried  up  all  the  original  moisture  of  the 
hand,  till  it  was  rough,  firm,  and  cracked  or  chapped  10 
like  a  piece  of  wood  exposed  to  the  sun  and  weather. 
The  natural  oil  of  the  skin,  which  gives  to  the  hand  its 
beautiful  suppleness  and  delicate  sense  of  touch,  was 
gone  like  the  sap  in  the  tree  he  was  felling,  for  it  was 
early  in  the  winter.  However  the  brow  might  perspire,  15 
there  was  no  dampness  on  the  hand,  and  the  helve  of  the 
axe  was  scarcely  harder  and  drier.  In  order,  therefore, 
that  the  grasp  might  be  firm,  it  was  necessary  to  arti- 
ficially wet  the  palms,  and  hence  that  custom  which  so 
often  disgusts  lookers-on,  of  spitting  on  the  hands  before  20 
commencing  work.  This  apparently  gratuitous  piece  of 
dirtiness  is  in  reality  absolutely  necessary.  Men  with 
hands  in  this  state  have  hardly  any  feeling  in  them;  they 
find  it  difficult  to  pick  up  anything  small,  as  a  pin  —  the 
fingers  fumble  over  it;  and  as  for  a  pen,  they  hold  it  25 
like  a  hammer.  His  chest  was  open  to  the  north  wind, 
which  whistled  through  the  bare  branches  of  the  tall  elm 

1  Reprinted  from  "  The  Toilers  of  the  Fields,"  by  permission  of  Long- 
mans, Green.  &  Co. 


!  5  8  STUDY   OF  LITER  A  TURE 

overhead  as  if  they  were  the  cordage  of  a  ship,  and  came 
in  sudden  blasts  through  the  gaps  in  the  hedge,  blowing 
his  shirt  back,  and  exposing  the  immense  breadth  of  30 
bone  and  rough  dark  skin  tanned  to  a  brown-red  by  the 
summer  sun  while  mowing.     The  neck  rose  from  it  short 
and  thick  like  that  of  a  bull,  and  the  head  was  round, 
and  covered  with  a  crop  of  short  grizzled  hair  not  yet 
quite  gray,  but  fast  losing  its  original  chestnut  color.  35 
The  features  were  fairly  regular,  but  coarse,  and  the  nose 
flattened.     An  almost  worn-out  old  hat  thrown  back  on 
the  head  showed  a  low,  broad,  wrinkled  forehead.     The 
eyes  were  small  and  bleared,  set  deep  under  shaggy  eye- 
brows.    The   corduroy  trousers,   yellow  with  clay  and  40 
sand,  were  shortened  below  the  knee  by  leather  straps 
like  garters,  so  as  to  exhibit  the  whole  of  the  clumsy 
boots,  with  soles  like  planks,  and  shod  with  iron  at  heel 
and  tip.     These  boots  weigh   seven  pounds  the  pair; 
and  in  wet  weather,  with  clay  and  dirt  clinging  to  them,  45 
must  reach  nearly  double  that. 

In  spite  of  all  the  magnificent  muscular  development 
which  this  man  possessed,  there  was  nothing  of  the  Her- 
cules about  him.     The  grace  of  strength  was  wanting, 
the  curved  lines  were  lacking;  all  was  gaunt,  angular,  50 
and  square.     The  chest  was  broad  enough,  but  flat,  a 
framework  of  bones  hidden  by  a  rough  hairy  skin ;  the 
breasts  did  not  swell  up  like  the  rounded  prominences 
of  the  antique  statue.     The  neck,  strong  enough  as  it 
was  to  bear  the  weight  of  a  sack  of  corn  with  ease,  was  55 
too  short,  and  too  much  a  part,  as  it  were,  of  the  shoulders. 
It  did  not  rise  up  like  a  tower,  distinct  in  itself;  and  the 
muscles  on  it,  as  they  moved,  produced  hollow  cavities 
distressing  to  the  eye.     It  was  strength  without  beauty; 
a  mechanical  kind  of  power,   like  that  of  an  engine,  60 
working  through  straight  lines  and  sharp  angles.     There 


THE  ATHLETE 


159 


was  too  much  of  the  machine,  and  too  little  of  the  ani- 
mal; the  lithe,  easy  motion  of  the  lion  or  the  tiger  was 
not  there.  The  impression  conveyed  was,  that  such 
strength  had  been  gained  through  a  course  of  incessant  65 
exertion  of  the  rudest  kind,  unassisted  by  generous  food 
and  checked  by  unnatural  exposure. 


THE  RUNNER1 

Walt  Whitman 

On  a  flat  road  runs  the  well-train' d  runner, 
He  is  lean  and  sinewy  with  muscular  legs, 
He  is  thinly  clothed,  he  leans  forward  as  he  runs, 
With  lightly  closed  fists  and  arms  partially  rais'd. 


THE   FOOTBALL  PLAYER2 

Edward  Cracroft  Lefroy 

If  I  could  paint  you,  friend,  as  you  stand  there, 
Guard  of  the  goal,  defensive,  open-eyed, 
Watching  the  tortured  bladder  slide  and  glide 
Under  the  twinkling  feet;  arms  bare,  head  bare, 
The  breeze  a-tremble  through  crow-tufts  of  hair; 
Red-brown  in  face,  and  ruddier  having  spied 
A  wily  foeman  breaking  from  the  side, 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  of  Small,  Maynard,  &  Co. 

2  Reprinted  by  permission  of  Mr.  John  Lane. 


!6o  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Aware  of  him,  —  of  all  else  unaware : 

If  I  could  limn  you,  as  you  leap  and  fling 

Your  weight  against  his  passage,  like  a  wall;  10 

Clutch  him,  and  collar  him,  and  rudely  cling, 

For  one  brief  moment  till  he  falls  —  you  fall : 

My  sketch  would  have  what  Art  can  never  give  — 

Sinew  and  breath  and  body;  it  would  live. 

What  form  of  poem  ?  Give  the  rhyme-scheme.  Does  it  differ  from 
that  of  a  preceding  poem  of  the  same  number  of  lines  ?  Does  Mr.  Lefroy 
divide  his  poem  into  two  thought  divisions,  as  did  Mr.  Watts-Dunton  ? 


CHILDHOOD  AND   YOUTH1 

a  contrast 

Edward  Cracroft  Lefroy 

I  love  to  watch  a  rout  of  merry  boys 

Released  from  school  for  play,  and  nothing  loth 

To  make  amends  for  late  incurious  sloth 

By  wild  activity  and  strident  noise; 

But  more  to  mark  the  lads  of  larger  growth 

Move  fieldward  with  such  perfect  equipoise, 

As  if  constricted  by  an  inward  oath 

To  scorn  the  younger  age  and  clamorous  joys; 

Prepared  no  less  for  pastime  all  their  own, 

A  silent  strenuous  game  of  hand  and  knee, 

Where  no  man  speaks,  but  a  round  ball  is  thrown 

And  kicked  and  run  upon  with  solemn  glee, 

And  every  struggle  takes  an  earnest  tone, 

And  rudest  sport  a  sober  dignity. 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  of  Mr.  John  Lane. 


THE  ATHLETE  g£i 

CHAPTERS   FROM   " LORN A   DOONE"1 

R.  D.  Blackmore 

THE   GREAT   WINTER 

It  must  have  snowed  most  wonderfully  to  have  made 
that  depth  of  covering  in  about  eight  hours.  For  one  of 
Master  Stickles'  men,  who  had  been  out  all  the  night, 
said  that  no  snow  began  to  fall  until  nearly  midnight. 
And  there  it  was,  blocking  up  the  doors,  stopping  the  s 
ways  and  the  watercourses,  and  making  it  very  much 
worse  to  walk  than  in  a  saw-pit  newly  used.  However, 
we  trudged  along  in  a  line;  I  first,  and  the  other  men 
after  me;  trying  to  keep  my  track,  but  finding  legs  and 
strength  not  up  to  it.  Most  of  all,  John  Fry  was  groan-  10 
ing;  certain  that  his  time  was  come,  and  sending  mes- 
sages to  his  wife,  and  blessings  to  his  children.  For  all 
this  time  it  was  snowing  harder  than  it  ever  had  snowed 
before,  so  far  as  a  man  might  guess  at  it;  and  the  leaden 
depth  of  the  sky  came  down,  like  a  mine  turned  upside  15 
down  on  us.  Not  that  the  flakes  were  so  very  large;  for 
I  have  seen  much  larger  flakes  in  a  shower  of  March, 
while  sowing  peas;  but  that  there  was  no  room  between 
them,  neither  any  relaxing,  nor  any  change  of  direction. 

Watch,  like  a  good  and  faithful  dog,  followed  us  very  20 
cheerfully,  leaping  out  of  the  depth,  which  took  him 
over  his  back  and  ears  already,  even  in  the  level  places; 
while  in  the  drifts  he  might  have  sunk  to  any  distance 
out  of  sight,  and  never  found  his  way  up  again.  How- 
ever, we  helped  him  now  and  then,  especially  through  25 
the  gaps  and  gateways;  and  so,  after  a  deal  of  flounder- 
ing, some  laughter,  and  a  little  swearing,  we  came  all 

1  The  style  is  in  imitation  of  the  seventeenth  century.   The  gigantic  young 
hero,  John  Ridd,  tells  the  story. 


!62  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

safe  to  the  lower  meadow,  where  most  of  our  flock  was 
huddled. 

But  behold,  there  was  no  flock  at  allj    None,  I  mean,  3Q 
to  be  seen  anywhere ;  only  at  one  corner  of  the  field,  by 
the  eastern  end,  where  the  snow  drove  in,  a  great  white 
billow,  as  high  as  a  barn  and  as  broad  as  a  house.     This 
great  drift  was  rolling  and  curling  beneath  the  violent 
blast,   tufting   and   combing  with  rustling  swirls,   and  35 
carved  (as  in  patterns  of  cornice)  where  the  grooving 
chisel  of  the  wind  swept  round.     Ever  and  again  the 
tempest  snatched  little  whiffs  from  the  channeled  edges, 
twirled  them  round  and  made  them  dance  over  the  chine 
of  the  monster  pile,  then  let  them  lie  like  herring-bones,  40 
or  the  seams  of  sand  where  the  tide  has  been.     And  all 
the  while  from  the  smothering  sky,  more  and  more  fiercely 
at  every  blast,  came  the  pelting,  pitiless  arrows,  winged 
with  murky  white,  and  pointed  with  the  barbs  of  frost. 

But  although,  for  people  who  had  no  sheep,  the  sight  45 
was  a  very  fine  one  (so  far  at  least  as  the  weather  per- 
mitted any  sight  at  all),    yet   for  us,   with   our   flock 
beneath  it,  this  great  mount  had  but  little  charm.    Watch 
began  to  scratch  at  once,  and  to  howl  along  the  sides  of 
it;  he  knew  that  his  charge  was  buried  there,  and  his  50 
business  taken  from  him.     But  we  four  men  set  to  in 
earnest,  digging  with  all  our  might  and  main,  shovelling 
away  at  the  great  white  pile,  and  pitching  it  into  the 
meadow.     Each  man  made  for  himself  a  cave,  scooping 
at  the  soft  cold  flux,  which  slid  upon  him  at  every  stroke,  55 
and  throwing  it  out  behind  him,  in  piles  of  castled  fancy. 
At  last  we  drove  our  tunnels  in  (for  we  worked  indeed 
for   the   lives  of   us),   and   all   converging  toward   the 
middle,  held  our  tools  and  listened. 

The  other  men  heard  nothing  at  all;  or  declared  that  6c 

39.  chine  means  spine. 


THE  ATHLETE 


163 


they  heard  nothing,  being  anxious  now  to  abandon  the 
matter,  because  of  the  chill  in  their  feet  and  knees.  But 
I  said,  "Go,  if  you  choose,  all  of  you.  I  will  work  it 
out  by  myself,  you  pie-crusts!"  and  upon  that  they 
gripped  their  shovels,  being  more  or  less  of  English-  65 
men;  and  the  least  drop  of  English  blood  is  worth  the 
best  of  any  other  when  it  comes  to  lasting  out. 

But  before  we  began  again,  I  laid  my  head  well  into 
the  chamber;    and  there   I  heard  a  faint   "ma-a-ah," 
coming  through  some  ells  of  snow,  like  a  plaintive  buried  7o 
hope,  or  a  last  appeal.     I  shouted  aloud  to  cheer  him 
up,   for  I  knew  what  sheep  it  was  — to  wit,  the  most 
valiant  of  all  the  wethers,  who  had  met  me  when  I  came 
home  from  London,  and  been  so  glad  to  see  me.     (And 
then  we  all  fell  to  again,  and  very  soon  we  hauled  him  75 
out.)     Watch  took  charge  of  him  at  once,  with  an  air  of 
the  noblest  patronage,  lying  on  his  frozen  fleece,  and 
licking  all  his  face  and  feet,  to  restore  his  warmth  to 
him.     Then  fighting  Tom  jumped  up  at  once,  and  made 
a  little  butt  at  Watch,  as  if  nothing  had  ever  ailed  him,  80 
and  then  set  off  to  a  shallow  place,  and  looked  for  some- 
thing to  nibble  at. 

Further  in,  and  close  under  the  bank,  where  they  had 
huddled  themselves  for  warmth,  we  found  all  the  rest  of 
the  poor  sheep,  packed  as  closely  as  if  they  were  in  a  85 
great  pie.  It  was  strange  to  observe  how  their  vapor, 
and  breath,  and  the  moisture  exuding  from  their  wool, 
had  scooped,  as  it  were,  a  covered  room  for  them,  lined 
with  a  ribbing  of  deep  yellow  snow.  Also  the  churned 
snow  beneath  their  feet  was  as  yellow  as  gamboge.  Two  90 
or  three  of  the  weaklier  hoggets  were  dead  from  want  of 
air,  and  from  pressure;  but  more  than  three-score  were  as 
lively  as  ever,  though  cramped  and  stiff  for  a  little  while. 

92.  hoggets,  two-year-old  sheep. 


1 64 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


"However  shall  us  get  'em  home?"  John  Fry  asked, 
in  great  dismay,  when  we  had  cleared  about  a  dozen  of  95 
them;  which  we  were  forced  to  do  very  carefully,  so  as 
not  to  fetch  the  roof  down.     "  No  manner  of  maning  to 
draive  'un,  drough  all  they  girt  driftnesses." 

"You  see  to  this  place,  John,"  I  replied,  as  we  leaned 
on  our  shovels  a  moment,  and  the  sheep  came  rubbing  100 
round  us.    "  Let  no  more  of  them  out  for  the  present;  they 
are  better  where  they  be.    Watch !  here,  boy,  keep  them." 

Watch  came,  with  his  little  scut  of  a  tail  cocked  as 
sharp  as  duty ;  and  I  set  him  at  the  narrow  mouth  of  the 
great  snow  antre.  All  the  sheep  sidled  away,  and  got  105 
closer,  that  the  other  sheep  might  be  bitten  first,  as  the 
foolish  things  imagine;  whereas  no  good  sheep-dog  even 
so  much  as  lips  a  sheep  to  turn  it. 

Then  of  the  outer  sheep  (all  now  snowed  and  frizzled 
like  a  lawyer's  wig)  I  took  the  two  finest  and  heaviest,  no 
and  with  one  beneath  my  right  arm,    and   the   other 
beneath   my  left,   I   went   straight   home  to  the  upper 
sheppey,  and  set  them  inside,  and  fastened  them.    Sixty- 
and-six  I  took  home  in  that  way,  two  at  a  time  on  each 
journey;   and  the  work  grew  harder  and  harder  each  115 
time,  as  the  drifts  of  the  snow  were  deepening.     No 
other  man  should  meddle  with  them:  I  was  resolved  to 
try  my  strength  against  the  strength  of  the  elements;  and 
try  it  I  did,  ay,  and  proved  it.     A  certain  fierce  delight 
burned  in  me,  as  the  struggle  grew  harder;  but  rather  120 
would  I  die  than  yield;  and  at  last  I  finished  it.     People 
talk  of  it  to  this  day :  but  none  can  tell  what  the  labor 
was,  who  had  not  felt  that  snow  and  wind. 


97.  No  manner  of  maning  is  about  equivalent  to  "  I  don't  by  any  means 
intend."  98.  'un,  them,  girt,  a  provincial  expression  for  big,  powerful. 
John  Fry  applies  it  to  snowdrifts;  but  John  Ridd  himself  was  known  as 
r"Girt  Jan  Ridd."     105.   antre  is  an  old  word  for  cave. 


THE  ATHLETE  ^5 

Of  the  sheep  upon  the  mountain,  and  the  sheep  upon 
the  western  farm,  and  the  cattle  on  the  upper  barrows,  125 
scarcely -one  in  ten  was  saved,  do  what  we  would  for 
them.  And  this  was  not  through  any  neglect  (now  that 
our  wits  were  sharpened),  but  from  the  pure  impossi- 
bility of  finding  them  at  all.  That  great  snow  never 
ceased  a  moment  for  three  days  and  nights;  and  then  130 
when  all  the  earth  was  filled,  and  the  topmost  hedges 
were  unseen,  and  the  trees  broke  down  with  weight 
(wherever  the  wind  had  not  lightened  them),  a  brilliant 
sun  broke  forth  and  showed  the  loss  of  all  our  customs. 

All  our  house  was  quite  snowed  up,  except  where  we  135 
had  purged  a  way  by  dint  of  constant  shovellings.  The 
kitchen  was  as  dark,  and  darker,  than  the  cider-cellar, 
and  long  lines  of  furrowed  scollops  ran  even  up  to  the 
chimney-stacks.  Several  windows  fell  right  inward, 
through  the  weight  of  the  snow  against  them;  and  the  140 
few  that  stood  bulged  in,  and  bent  like  an  old  bruised 
lantern.  We  were  obliged  to  cook  by  candle-light;  we 
were  forced  to  read  by  candle-light;  as  for  baking  we 
could  not  do  it,  because  the  oven  was  too  chill ;  and  a  load 
of  fagots  only  brought  a  little  wet  down  the  sides  of  it.    14s 

For  when  the  sun  burst  forth  at  last  upon  the  world  of 
white,  what  he  brought  was  neither  warmth,  nor  cheer, 
nor  hope  of  softening;  only  a  clearer  shaft  of  cold, 
from  the  violent  depths  of  sky.  Long-drawn  alleys  of 
white  haze  seemed  to  lead  toward  him,  yet  such  as  150 
he  could  not  come  down,  with  any  warmth  remaining. 
Broad  white  curtains  of  the  frost-fog  looped  around  the 
lower  sky,  on  the  verge  of  hill  and  valley,  and  above  the 
laden  trees.  Only  round  the  sun  himself,  and  the  spot 
of  heaven  he  claimed,  clustered  a  bright  purple-blue,  155 
clear,  and  calm,  and  deep. 

134.  customs  here  means  profits. 


!66  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

That  night  such  a  frost  ensued  as  we  had  never 
dreamed  of,  neither  read  in  ancient  books,  nor  histories 
of  Frobisher.  The  kettle  by  the  fire  froze,  and  the 
crock  upon  the  hearth-cheeks;  many  men  were  killed, 
and  cattle  rigid  in  their  head-ropes.  Then  I  heard  that  160 
fearful  sound  which  never  1  had  heard  before,  neither 
since  have  heard  (except  during  that  same  winter),  the 
sharp  yet  solemn  sound  of  trees  burst  open  by  the  frost- 
blow.  Our  great  walnut  lost  three  branches,  and  has 
been  dying  ever  since;  though  growing  meanwhile,  as  165 
the  soul  does.  And  the  ancient  oak  at  the  cross  was 
rent,  and  many  score  of  ash  trees.  But  why  should  I 
tell  all  this?  The  people  who  have  not  seen  it  (as  I 
have)  will  only  make  faces,  and  disbelieve,  till  such 
another  frost  comes,  which  perhaps  may  never  be.  .  .  .  170 

DRIVEN  BEYOND    ENDURANCE 

Everything  was  settled  smoothly,  and  without  any  fear 
or  fuss  that  Lorna  might  find  end  of  troubles,  and  myself 
of  eager  waiting,  with  the  help  of  Parson  Bowden,  and 
the  good  wishes  of  two  counties.  I  could  scarce  believe 
my  fortune  when  I  looked  upon  her  beauty,  gentleness,  5 
and  sweetness,  mingled  with  enough  of  humor,  and  warm 
woman's  feeling,  never  to  be  dull  or  tiring;  never  them- 
selves to  be  weary. 

For  she  might  be  called  a  woman  now,  although  a  very 
young  one,  and  as  full  of  playful  ways,  or  perhaps  I  10 
may  say  ten  times  as  full,  as  if  she  had  known  no  trouble : 
to  wit,  the  spirit  of  bright  childhood,  having  been  so 
curbed  and  straightened  ere  its  time  was  over,  now  broke 
forth,  enriched  and  varied  with  the  garb  of  conscious 
maidenhood.  And  the  sense  of  steadfast  love,  and  eager  IS 
love  enfolding  her,  colored  with  so  many  tinges  all  her 


THE  ATHLETE 


167 


looks,  and  words,  and  thoughts,  that  to  me  it  was  the 
noblest  vision  even  to  think  about  her. 

But  this  was  far  too  bright  to  last,  without  bitter  break, 
and  the  plunging  of  happiness  in  horror,  and  of  passion-  20 
ate  joy  in  agony.  My  darling,  in  her  softest  moments, 
when  she  was  alone  with  me,  when  the  spark  of  defiant 
eyes  was  veiled  beneath  dark  lashes,  and  the  challenge 
of  gay  beauty  passed  into  sweetest  invitation;  at  such 
times  of  her  purest  love  and  warmest  faith  in  me,  a  deep  25 
abiding  fear  would  flutter  in  her  bounding  heart,  as  of 
deadly  fate's  approach.  She  would  cling  to  me,  and 
nestle  to  me,  being  scared  of  coyishness,  and  lay  one 
arm  around  my  neck,  and  ask  if  I  could  do  without  her. 

Hence,  as  all  emotions  haply,  of  those  who  are  more  30 
to  us  than  ourselves,  find  within  us  stronger  echo,  and 
more  perfect  answer,  so  I  could  not  be  regardless  of  some 
hidden  evil,  and  my  dark  misgivings  deepened  as  the 
time  drew  nearer.     I  kept  a  steadfast  watch  on  Lorna, 
neglecting  a  field  of  beans  entirely,  as  well  as  a  litter  35 
of  young  pigs,  and  a  cow  somewhat  given  to  jaundice. 
And  I  let  Jem  Slocome  go  to  sleep  in  the  tallat  all  one 
afternoon  and  Bill  Dadds  draw  off  a  bucket  of  cider, 
without  so  much  as  a  "by  your  leave."     For  these  men 
knew  that  my  knighthood,  and  my  coat  of  arms,  and  40 
(most  of  all)  my  love,  were  greatly  against  good  farm- 
ing: the  sense  of  our  country  being — and  perhaps  it 
may  be  sensible  —  that  a  man  who  sticks  up  to  be  any- 
thing must  allow  himself  to  be  cheated. 

But  I  never  did  stick  up,  nor  would,  though  all  the  45 
parish  bade  me;  and  I  whistled  the  same  tunes  to  my 
horses,  and  held  my  plough-tree  just  the  same  as  if  no 
King  nor  Queen  had  ever  come  to  spoil  my  tune  or  hand. 
For  this  thing  nearly  all  the  men  around  our  parts  up- 

37.  tallat,  hayloft. 


!68  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

braided  me,  but  the  women  praised  me;  and  for  the  most  5° 
part  these  are  right,  when  themselves  are  not  concerned. 

However  humble  I  might  be,  no  one  knowing  any- 
thing of  our  part  of  the  country  would  for  a  moment 
doubt  that  now  here  was  a  great  to-do  and  talk  of  John 
Ridd  and  his  wedding.  The  fierce  fight  with  the  55 
Doones  so  lately,  and  my  leading  of  the  combat  (though 
I  fought  not  more  than  need  be),  and  the  vanishing  of  Sir 
Counsellor,  and  the  galloping  madness  of  Carver,  and 
the  religious  fear  of  the  women  that  this  last  was  gone 
to  hell  —  for  he  himself  had  declared  that  his  aim,  while  60 
he  cut  through  the  yeomanry  —  also  their  remorse  that 
he  should  have  been  made  to  go  thither,  with  all  his 
children  left  behind  —  these  things,  I  say  (if  ever  I  can 
again  contrive  to  say  anything),  had  led  to  the  broadest 
excitement  about  my  wedding  of  Lorna.  We  heard  that  65 
people  meant  to  come  from  more  than  thirty  miles 
around,  upon  excuse  of  seeing  my  stature  and  Lorna' s 
beauty;  but  in  good  truth,  out  of  sheer  curiosity  and 
the  love  of  meddling. 

Our  clerk  had  given  notice  that  not  a  man  should  70 
come  inside  the  door  of  his  church  without  shilling-fee, 
and  women  (as  sure  to  see  twice  as  much)  must  every 
one  pay  two  shillings.     I  thought  this  wrong;  and,  as 
church-warden,  begged  that  the  money  might  be  paid 
into  mine  own  hands  when  taken.    •  But  the  clerk  said  75 
that  was  against  all  law;  and  he  had  orders  from  the 
parson  to  pay  it  to  him  without  any  delay.     So,  as  I 
always  obey  the  parson  when  I  care  not  much  about  a 
thing,  I  let  them  have  it  their  own  way,  though  feeling 
inclined  to  believe  sometimes  that  I  ought  to  have  some  80 
of  the  money. 

Dear  mother  arranged  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  way 
in  which  it  was  to  be  done;  and  Annie  and  Lizzie,  and 


THE  ATHLETE  ^9 

all  the'  Snowes,  and  even  Ruth  Huckaback  (who  was 
there,  after  great  persuasion),  made  such  a  sweeping  of  85 
dresses  that  I  scarcely  knew  where  to  place  my  feet,  and 
longed  for  a  staff  to  put  by  their  gowns.  Then  Lorna 
came  out  of  a  pew  halfway,  in  a  manner  which  quite 
astonished  me,  and  took  my  left  hand  in  her  right,  and 
I  prayed  God  that  it  were  done  with.  90 

My  darling  looked  so  glorious  that  I  was  afraid  of 
glancing  at  her,  yet  took  in  all  her  beauty.  She  was  in 
a  fright,  no  doubt,  but  nobody  should  see  it;  whereas  I 
said  (to  myself,  at  least),  "I  will  go  through  it  like  a 
grave-digger."  95 

Lorna' s  dress  was  of  pure  white,  clouded  with  faint 
lavender  (for  the  sake  of  the  old  Earl  Brandir),  and  as 
simple  as  need  be,  except  for  perfect  loveliness.  I  was 
afraid  to  look  at  her,  as  I  said  before,  except  when  each 
of  us  said,  "  I  will  ";  and  then  each  dwelt  upon  the  other.  100 

It  is  impossible  for  any  who  have  not  loved  as  I  have 
to  conceive  my  joy  and  pride  when,  after  ring  and  all 
was  done,  and  the  parson  had  blessed  us,  Lorna  turned 
to  look  at  me  with  her  glances  of  subtle  fun  subdued  by 
this  great  act.  105 

Her  eyes,  which  none  on  earth  may  ever  equal  or 
compare  with,  told  me  such  a  depth  of  comfort,  yet 
awaiting  further  commune,  that  I  was  almost  amazed, 
thoroughly  as  I  knew  them.  Darling  eyes,  the  sweetest 
eyes,  the  loveliest,  the  most  loving  eyes  —  the  sound  of  no 
a  shot  rang  through  the  church,  and  those  eyes  were 
filled  with  death. 

Lorna  fell  across  my  knees  when  I  was  going  to  kiss 
her,  as  the  bridegroom  is  allowed  to  do,  and  encouraged, 
if  he  needs  it;  a  flood  of  blood  came  out  upon  the  115 
yellow  wood  of  the  altar  steps;  and  at  my  feet  lay  Lorna, 
trying  to  tell  me  some  last  message  out  of  her  faithful 


I  y0  S  TUD  Y  OF  LITER  A  TURE 

eyes.  I  lifted  her  up,  and  petted  her,  and  coaxed  her, 
but  it  was  no  good;  the  only  sign  of  life  remaining  was 
a  spirit  of  bright  red  blood.  120 

Some  men  know  what  things  befall  them  in  the 
supreme  time  of  their  life  —  far  above  the  time  of  death 
—  but  to  me  comes  back  as  a  hazy  dream,  without  any 
knowledge  in  it,  what  I  did,  or  felt,  or  thought,  with  my 
wife's  arms  flagging,  flagging,  around  my  neck,  as  1 125 
raised  her  up,  and  softly  put  them  there.  She  sighed  a 
long  sigh  on  my  breast,  for  her  last  farewell  to  life,  and 
then  she  grew  so  cold,  and  cold,  that  I  asked  the  time 
of  year. 

It  was  now  Whit-Tuesday,  and  the  lilacs  all  in  bios- 130 
som;  and  why  I  thought  of  the  time  of  year,  with  the 
young  death  in  my  arms,  God  or  His  angels  may  decide, 
having  so  strangely  given  us.  Enough  that  so  I  did, 
and  looked;  and  our  white  lilacs  were  beautiful.  Then 
I  laid  my  wife  in  my  mother's  arms,  and  begging  that  135 
no  one  would  make  any  noise,  went  forth  for  my  revenge. 

Of  course  I  knew  who  had  done  it.  There  was  but 
one  man  in  the  world,  or,  at  any  rate,  in  our  part  of  it, 
who  could  have  done  such  a  thing  —  such  a  thing.  I 
use  no  harsher  word  about  it,  while  I  leaped  upon  our  140 
best  horse,  with  bridle  but  no  saddle,  and  set  the  head 
of  Kickums  toward  the  course  now  pointed  out  to  me. 
Who  showed  me  the  course,  I  cannot  tell.  I  only  knew 
that  I  took  it.     And  the  men  fell  back  before  me. 

Weapon  of  no  sort  had  I.     Unarmed,  and  wondering  145 
at  my  strange  attire  (with  a  bridal  vest  wrought  by  our 
Annie,  and  red  with  the  blood  of  the  bride),  I  went 
forth  just  to  find  out  this  —  whether  in  this  world  there 
be  or  be  not  God  of  justice. 

With  my  vicious  horse  at  a  furious  speed,  I  came  upon  150 

120.  spirit,  spirt. 


THE  ATHLETE 


171 


Black  Barrow  Down,  directed  by  some  shout  of  men, 
which  seemed  to  me  but  a  whisper.  And  there  about  a 
furlong  before  me,  rode  a  man  on  a  great  black  horse, 
and  I  knew  that  the  man  was  Carver  Doone. 

"Your  life,  or  mine,"  I  said  to  myself;  "as  the  will  155 
of  God  may  be.     But  we  two  live  not  upon  this  earth 
one  more  hour  together." 

I  knew  the  strength  of  this  great  man;  and  I  knew 
that  he  was  armed  with  a  gun  —  if  he  had  time  to  load 
again,  after  shooting  my  Lorna  —  or  at  any  rate  with  160 
pistols,  and  a  horseman's  sword  as  well.  Nevertheless, 
I  had  no  more  doubt  of  killing  the  man  before  me  than 
a  cook  has  of  spitting  a  headless  fowl. 

Sometimes  seeing  no  ground  beneath  me,  and  some- 
times heeding  every  leaf,  and  the  crossing  of  the  grass- 165 
blades,  I  followed  over  the  long  moor,  reckless  whether 
seen  or  not.  But  only  once  the  other  man  turned  round 
and  looked  back  again,  and  then  I  was  beside  a  rock, 
with  a  reedy  swamp  behind  me. 

Although  he  was  so  far  before  me,  and  riding  as  hard  170 
as  ride  he  might,  I  saw  that  he  had  something  on  the 
horse  in  front  of  him;  something  which  needed  care, 
and  stopped  him  from  looking  backward.  In  the  whirl- 
ing of  my  wits,  I  fancied  first  that  this  was  Lorna;  until 
the  scene  I  had  been  through  fell  across  hot  brain  and  175 
heart,  like  the  drop  at  the  close  of  a  tragedy.  Rushing 
there  through  crag  and  quag  at  utmost  speed  of  a  mad- 
dened horse,  I  saw,  as  of  another's  fate,  calmly  (as  on 
canvas  laid),  the  brutal  deed,  the  piteous  anguish,  and 
the  cold  despair.  180 

The  man  turned  up  the  gully  leading  from  the  moor  to 
Cloven  Rocks,  through  which  John  Fry  had  tracked 
Uncle  Ben,  as  of  old  related.  But  as  Carver  entered 
it,  he  turned  round,  and  beheld  me  not  a  hundred  yards 


172 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


behind;  and  I  saw  that  he  was  bearing  his  child,  little  185 
Ensie,    before    him.      Ensie   also    descried    me,    and 
stretched  his  hands  and  cried  to  me;  for  the  face  of 
his  father  frightened  him. 

Carver  Doone,  with  a  vile  oath,  thrust  spurs  into  his 
flagging  horse,  and  laid  one  hand  on  a  pistol-stock,  190 
whence  I  knew  that  his  slung  carbine  had  received  no 
bullet  since  the  one  that  had  pierced  Lorna.  And  a  cry 
of  triumph  rose  from  the  black  depths  of  my  heart. 
What  cared  I  for  pistols?  I  had  no  spurs,  neither  was 
my  horse  one  to  need  the  rowel;  I  rather  held  him  in  195. 
than  urged  him,  for  he  was  fresh  as  ever ;  and  I  knew  that 
the  black  steed  in  front,  if  he  breasted  the  steep  ascent, 
where  the  track  divided,  must  be  in  our  reach  at  once. 

His  rider  knew  this,  and,  having  no  room  in  the 
rocky  channel  to  turn  and  fire,  drew  rein  at  the  cross-  200 
ways  sharply,  and  plunged  into  the  black  ravine  leading 
to  the  Wizard's  Slough.  "Is  it  so?"  I  said  to  myself, 
with  brain  and  head  cold  as  iron :  "  though  the  foul  fiend 
come  from  the  slough  to  save  thee,  thou  shalt  carve  it, 
Carver."  205 

I  followed  my  enemy  carefully,  steadily,  even  lei- 
surely; for  I  had  him  as  in  a  pitfall,  where  no  escape 
might  be.  He  thought  that  I  feared  to  approach  him, 
for  he  knew  not  where  he  was :  and  his  low  disdainful 
laugh  came  back.     "Laugh  he  who  wins,"  thought  I.       210 

A  gnarled  and  half-starved  oak,  as  stubborn  as  my 
own  resolve,  and  smitten  by  some  storm  of  old,  hung 
from  the  crag  above  me.  Rising  from  my  horse's  back, 
although  I  had  no  stirrups,  I  caught  a  limb,  and  tore  it 
(like  a  mere  wheat-awn)  from  the  socket.  Men  show  215 
the  rent  even  now  with  wonder;  none  with  more  wonder 
than  myself. 

Carver  Doone  turned  the  corner  suddenly  on  the  black 


THE  ATHLETE 


173 


and  bottomless  bog;  with  a  start  of  fear  he  reigned  back 
his  horse,  and  I  thought  he  would  have  turned  upon  me.  220 
But  instead  of  that,  he  again  rode  on,  hoping  to  find  a 
way  round  the  side. 

Now  there  is  a  way  between  cliff  and  slough  for  those 
who  know  the  ground  thoroughly,  or  have  time  enough 
to  search  it;  but  for  him  there  was  no  road,  and  he  lost  225 
some  time  in  seeking  it.     Upon  this  he  made  up  his 
mind;  and  wheeling,  fired,  and  then  rode  at  me. 

His  bullet  struck  me  somewhere,  but  I  took  no  heed 
of  that.  Fearing  only  his  escape,  I  laid  my  horse 
across  the  way,  and  with  the  limb  of  the  oak  struck  full  230 
on  the  forehead  his  charging  steed.  Ere  the  slash  of 
the  sword  came  nigh  me,  man  and  horse  rolled  over, 
and  well-nigh  bore  my  own  horse  down  with  the  power 
of  their  onset. 

Carver  Doone  was  somewhat  stunned,  and  could  not  235 
arise  for  a  moment.  Meanwhile  I  leaped  on  the  ground 
and  awaited,  smoothing  my  hair  back,  and  baring  my 
arms,  as  though  in  the  ring  for  wrestling.  Then  the 
little  boy  ran  to  me,  clasped  my  leg,  and  looked  up  at 
me;  and  the  terror  in  his  eyes  made  me  almost  fear  240 
myself. 

"Ensie,  dear,"  I  said  quite  gently,  grieving  that  he 
should  see  his  wicked  father  killed,  "run  up  yonder 
round  the  corner,  and  try  to  find  a  pretty  bunch  of  blue- 
bells for  the  lady."  The  child  obeyed  me,  hanging  245 
back,  and  looking  back,  and  then  laughing,  while  I  pre- 
pared for  business.  There  and  then  I  might  have  killed 
mine  enemy  with  a  single  blow  while  he  lay  unconscious, 
but  it  would  have  been  foul  play. 

With  a  sullen  and  black  scowl,  the  Carver  gathered  250 
his  mighty  limbs  and  arose,  and  looked  round  for  his 
weapons;    but  I  had  put  them  well  away.      Then  he 


^4  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

came  to  me  and  gazed,  being  wont  to  frighten  thus 
young  men. 

"I  would  not  harm  you,  lad,"  he  said,  with  a  lofty  255 
style  of  sneering.     "1  have  punished  you  enough,  for 
most  of  your  impertinence.     For  the  rest  I  forgive  you, 
because  you  have  been  good  and  gracious  to  my  little 
son.     Go  and  be  contented." 

For  answer  I  smote  him  on  the  cheek,  lightly,  and  260 
not  to  hurt  him,  but  to  make  his  blood  leap  up.     I 
would  not  sully  my  tongue  by  speaking  to  a  man  like 
this. 

There  was  a  level  space  of  sward  between  us  and  the 
slough.  With  the  courtesy  derived  from  London,  and  265 
the  processions  I  had  seen,  to  this  place  I  led  him. 
And  that  he  might  breathe  himself,  and  have  every  fibre 
cool,  and  every  muscle  ready,  my  hold  upon  his  coat  I 
loosed,  and  left  him  to  begin  with  me  whenever  he 
thought  proper.  270 

I  think  he  felt  that  his  time  was  come.  I  think  that 
he  knew  from  my  knitted  muscles,  and  the  firm  arch  of 
my  breast,  and  the  way  in  which  I  stood,  but  most  of 
all  from  my  stern  blue  eyes,  that  he  had  found  his  mas- 
ter. At  any  rate  a  paleness  came,  an  ashy  paleness  on  275 
his  cheeks,  and  the  vast  calves  of  his  legs  bowed  in  as 
if  he  was  out  of  training. 

Seeing  this,  villain  as  he  was,  I  offered  him  first 
chance.  I  stretched  forth  my  left  hand,  as  I  do  to  a 
weaker  antagonist,  and  I  let  him  have  the  hug  of  me.  280 
But  in  this  I  was  too  generous;  having  forgotten  my 
pistol-wound,  and  the  cracking  of  one  of  my  short  lower 
ribs.  Carver  Doone  caught  me  round  the  waist  with  such 
a  grip  as  never  yet  had  been  laid  upon  me. 

I  heard  my  rib  go;  I  grasped  his  arm,  and  tore  the  285 
muscle  out  of  it  (as  the  string  comes  out  of  an  orange); 


** 


THE  ATHLETE 


175 


tlicn  I  took  him  by  the  throat,  which  is  not  allowed  in 
wrestling,  but  he  had  snatched  at  mine;  and  now  was 
no  time  of  dalliance.  In  vain  he  tugged,  and  strained, 
and  writhed,  dashed  his  bleeding  fist  into  my  face,  and  290 
flung  himself  on  me  with  gnashing  jaws.  Beneath  the 
iron  of  my  strength  —  for  God  that  day  was  with  me  — 
I  had  him  helpless  in  two  minutes,  and  his  fiery  eyes 
lolled  out. 

"I  will  not  harm  thee  any  more,"  I  cried,  so  far  as  I  293 
could  for  panting,  the  work  being  very  furious.     "  Car- 
ver Doone,  thou  art  beaten;  own  it,  and  thank  God  for 
it;  and  go  thy  way,  and  repent  thyself." 

It  was  all  too  late.     Even  if  he  had  yielded  in  his 
ravening  frenzy  —  for  his  beard  was  like  a  mad  dog's  300 
jowl  —  even  if  he  would  have  owned  that,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  he  had  found  his  master;  it  was  all  too 
late. 

The  black  bog  had  him  by  the  feet;  the  sucking  of 
the  ground  drew  on  him,  like  the  thirsty  lips  of  death.  3°s 
In  our  fury,  we  had  heeded  neither  wet  nor  dry;  nor 
thought  of  earth  beneath  us.     I  myself  might  scarcely 
leap,  with  the  last  spring  of  o'erlabored  legs,  from  the 
ingulfing  grave  of  slime.     He  fell  back,  with  his  swarthy 
breast  (from  which  my  gripe  had  tore  all  clothing),  like  3IQ 
a  hummock  of  bog-oak,  standing  out  the  quagmire;  and 
then  he  tossed  his  arms  to  heaven,  and  they  were  black 
to  the  elbow,  and  the  glare  of  his  eyes  was  ghastly.     I 
could  only  gaze  and  pant;  for  my  strength  was  no  more 
than  an  infant's,  from  the  fury  and  the  horror.     Scarcely  3*5 
could  I  turn  away,  while,  joint  by  joint,  he  sunk  from 
sight. 


176 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

MY   BATH 

John  Stuart  Blackie 

{Scene:  Kinnaird  Burn,  near  Pitlochrie) 

Come  here,  good  people  great  and  small,  that  wander  far 

abroad, 
To  drink  of  drumly  German  wells,  and  make  a  weary  road 
To  Baden  and  to  Wiesbaden,  and  how  they  all  are  nam'd, 
To  Carlsbad  and  to  Kissingen,  for  healing  virtue  fam'd; 
Come  stay  at  home,  and  keep  your  feet  from  dusty  travel 

free,  5 

And  I  will  show  you  what  rare  bath  a  good  God  gave  to 

me; 
'Tis  hid  among  the  Highland  hills  beneath  the  purple  brae, 
With  cooling  freshness  free  to  all,  nor  doctor's  fee  to  pay. 

No  craft  of  mason  made  it  here,  nor  carpenter,  I  wot ; 
Nor  tinkering    fool   with    hammering    tool    to    shape    the 

charmed  spot ;  10 

But  down  the  rocky-breasted  glen  the  foamy  torrent  falls 
Into  the  amber  caldron  deep,  fenced  round  with  granite 

walls. 

Nor  gilded  beam,  nor  pictur'd  dome,  nor  curtain,  roofs  it  in, 
But  the  blue  sky  rests,  and  white  clouds  float,  above  the 

bubbling  linn, 
Where  God's  own  hand  hath  scoop'd  it  out  in  Nature's 

Titan  hall,  15 

And  from  her  cloud-fed  fountains  drew  its  waters  free  to  all. 

2.  drumly,  Scotch  for  muddy.  3.  and  how  they  all  are  nam'd  is  a 
German  idiom  equivalent  to  "  all  of  them,  however  named."  14.  linn,  a 
pool.  The  "  colony  by  the  pool "  is  the  sense  of  Linn-colonia,  shortened 
into  Lincoln. 


THE  ATHLETE  iyy 

Oh  come  and  see  my  Highland  bath,  and  prove  its  freshen- 
ing flood, 
And  spare  to  taint  your  skin  with  swathes  of  drumly  Ger- 
man mud  : 
Come  plunge  with  me  into  the  wave  like  liquid  topaz  fair, 
And  to  the  waters  give  your  back  that  spout  down  bravely 
there ;  20 

Then  float  upon  the   swirling   flood,  and,  like  a  glancing 

trout, 
Plash  about,  and  dash  about,  and  make  a  lively  rout, 
And  to  the  gracious  sun  display  the  glory  of  your  skin, 
As  you  dash  about  and  splash  about  in  the  foamy-bubbling 
linn. 

Oh  come  and  prove  my  bonnie  bath ;  in  sooth  'tis  furnish'd 

well  25 

With  trees,  and  shrubs,  and  spreading  ferns,  all  in  the  rocky 

dell, 
And  roses  hanging  from  the  cliff  in  grace  of  white  and  red, 
And  little  tiny  birches  nodding  lightly  overhead, 
And  spiry  larch  with  purple  cones,  and  tips  of  virgin  green, 
And  leafy  shade  of  hazel  copse  with  sunny  glints  between : 
Oh  might  the  Roman  wight  be  here  who  praised  Bandusia's 
well,  31 

He'd  find  a  bath  to  Nymphs  more  dear  in  my  sweet  High- 
land dell. 

Some  folks  will  pile  proud  palaces,  and  some  will  wander 

far 
To  scan  the  blinding  of  a  sun,  or  the  blinking  of  a  star ; 
Some  sweat  through  Afric's  burning  sands;  and  some  will 

vex  their  soul  35 

To  find  heaven  knows  what  frosty  prize  beneath  the  Arctic 

pole. 

N 


^8  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

God  bless  them  all ;  and  may  they  find  what  thing  delights 

them  well 
In  east  or  west,  or  north  or  south,  —  but  I  at  home  will  dwell 
Where   fragrant   ferns   their   fronds   uncurl,   and    healthful 

breezes  play,  39 

x\nd  clear  brown  waters  grandly  swirl  beneath  the  purple  brae. 

Oh  come  and  prove  my  Highland  bath,  the  burn,  and  all 

the  glen, 
Hard-toiling  wights  in  dingy  nooks,  and  scribes  with  inky  pen, 
Strange  thoughtful  men  with  curious  quests  that  vex  your 

fretful  brains, 
And  scheming  sons  of  trade  who  fear  to  count  your  slippery 

gains  j 
Come  wander  up  the  burn  with  me,  and  thread  the  winding 

glen,  45 

And  breathe  the  healthful  power  that  flows  down  from  the 

breezy  Ben, 
And  plunge  you  in  the  deep  brown  pool ;  and  from  beneath 

the  spray 
You'll  come  forth  like  a  flower  that  blooms  'neath  freshen- 
ing showers  in  May  ! 

41.  burn,  a  brook.  42.  wights,  mortals.  46.  Ben  is  a  Celtic  word  for 
mountain. 

Name  the  metre  according  to  the  number  of  accents.  Is  it  trochaic 
or  iambic?  Is  the  movement  solemn  or  cheerful?  What  is  the  rhyme- 
scheme  ?    What  colors  are  attributed  to  the  pool  of  mountain  water  ? 


Robert  Browning 

Oh,  our  manhood's  prime  vigor  !     No  spirit  feels  waste, 
Not  a  muscle  is  stopped  in  its  playing  nor  sinew  unbraced. 
Oh,  the  wild  joys  of  living  !  the  leaping  from  rock  up  to  rock 


THE  ATHLETE 


179 


The  strong  rending  of  boughs  from  the  fir  tree,  the  cool 

silver  shock 
Of  the  plunge  in  a  pool's   living  water,  the  hunt  of  the 

bear,  5 

And  the  sultriness  showing  the  lion  is  couched  in  his  lair. 
And  the  meal,  the  rich  dates  yellowed  over  with  gold  dust 

divine, 
And  the  locust-flesh  steeped  in  the  pitcher,  the  full  draught 

of  wine, 
And  the  sleep  in  the  dried  river-channel  where  bulrushes 

tell 
That  the  water  was  wont  to  go  warbling  so  softly  and  well.  10 
How  good  is  man's  life,  the  mere  living  !  how  fit  to  employ 
All  the  heart  and  the  soul  and  the  senses  forever  in  joy  ! 


THE  HAUNTED  PALACE 
Edgar  Allan  Poe 

In  the  greenest  of  our  valleys, 

By  good  angels  tenanted, 
Once  a  fair  and  stately  palace 

(Radiant  palace)  reared  its  head. 
In  the  monarch  Thought's  dominion 

It  stood  there  ! 
Never  seraph  spread  a  pinion 

Over  fabric  half  so  fair. 


Banners  yellow,  glorious,  golden, 
On  its  roof  did  float  and  flow 

(This,  all  this,  was  in  the  olden 
Time  long  ago)  ; 


l80  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

And  every  gentle  air  that  dallied 

In  that  sweet  day, 
Along  the  ramparts  plumed  and  pallid,  15 

A  winged  odor  went  away. 

Wanderers  in  that  happy  valley 

Through  two  luminous  windows  saw 
Spirits  moving  musically, 

To  a  lute's  well-tuned  law,  20 

Round  about  a  throne,  where,  sitting 

(Porphyrogene  !) 
In  state  his  glory  well  befitting, 

The  ruler  of  the  realm  was  seen. 

And  all  with  pearl  and  ruby  glowing  25 

Was  the  fair  palace  door, 
Through  which  came  flowing,  flowing,  flowing, 

And  sparkling  evermore, 
A  troop  of  Echoes,  whose  sweet  duty 

Was  but  to  sing,  30 

In  voices  of  surpassing  beauty, 

The  wit  and  wisdom  of  their  king. 

But  evil  things,  in  robes  of  sorrow, 

Assailed  the  monarch's  high  estate 
(Ah  !  let  us  mourn,  for  never  morrow  35 

Shall  dawn  upon  him  desolate) ; 
And  round  about  his  home  the  glory 

That  blushed  and  bloomed 
Is  but  a  dim-remembered  story 

Of  the  old  time  entombed.  40 

And  travellers  now  within  that  valley 

Through  the  red-litten  windows  see 

22.  Porphyrogene  means  born  to  the  purple,  i.e.  to  royalty. 


THE  ATHLETE  lgl 

Vast  forms  that  move  fantastically 

To  a  discordant  melody, 
While,  like  a  ghastly,  rapid  river,  45 

Through  the  pale  door 
A  hideous  throng  rush  out  forever, 

And  laugh  —  but  smile  no  more. 

What  two  lines  of  the  poem  are  the  most  melodious  ? 

Explain  the  allegory  stanza  by  stanza,  but  do  not  be  surprised  if  every 
detail  {e.g.  the  lute)  is  not  clear ;  Poe  perhaps  intended  a  little  beautiful 
vagueness  now  and  then. 


DIALOGUE   BETWEEN   FRANKLIN  AND  THE 
GOUT 

Benjamin  Franklin 

Midnight,  October  22,  1780. 

Franklin.  Eh  !  oh  !  eh  !  What  have  I  done  to  merit 
these  cruel  sufferings  ? 

Gout.  Many  things :  you  have  ate  and  drank  too 
freely,  and  too  much  indulged  those  legs  of  yours  in 
their  indolence.  5 

Franklin.     Who  is  it  that  accuses  me? 

Gout.     It  is  I,  even  I,  the  Gout. 

Franklin.     What !  my  enemy  in  person? 

Gout.     No,  not  your  enemy. 

Franklin.     I  repeat  it :  my  enemy ;  for  you  would  not  10 
only  torment  my  body  to  death,  but  ruin  my  good  name; 
you  reproach  me  as  a  glutton  and  a  tippler ;  now  all  the 
world,  that  knows  me,  will  allow  that  I  am  neither  the  one 
nor  the  other. 

Gout.     The  world  may  think  as  it  pleases  ;  it  is  always  15 
very  complaisant  to  itself,  and  sometimes  to  its  friends ; 


j82  study  of  literature 

but  I  very  well  know  that  the  quantity  of  meat  and  drink 
proper  for  a  man  who  takes  a  reasonable  degree  of  exer- 
cise, would  be  too  much  for  another  who  never  takes  any. 

Franklin.     I  take  —  eh  !  oh  !  —  as  much  exercise  —  20 
eh  !  —  as  I  can,  Madam  Gout.     You  know  my  sedentary 
state,  and  on  that  account,  it  would  seem,  Madam  Gout, 
as  if  you  might  spare  me  a  little,  seeing  it  is  not  altogether 
my  own  fault. 

Gout.  Not  a  jot ;  your  rhetoric  and  your  politeness  25 
are  thrown  away;  your  apology  avails  nothing.  If  your 
situation  in  life  is  a  sedentary  one,  your  amusements, 
your  recreations,  at  least,  should  be  active.  You  ought 
to  walk  or  ride,  or  if  the  weather  prevents  that,  play  at 
billiards.  But  let  us  examine  your  course  of  life.  While  30 
the  mornings  are  long,  and  you  have  leisure  to  go  abroad, 
what  do  you  do?  Why,  instead  of  gaining  an  appetite 
for  breakfast  by  salutary  exercise,  you  amuse  yourself  with 
books,  pamphlets,  or  newspapers,  which  commonly  are  not 
worth  the  reading.     Yet  you  eat  an  inordinate  breakfast,  35 

—  four  dishes  of  tea,  with  cream,  and  one  or  two  buttered 
toasts,  with  slices  of  hung  beef,  which,  I  fancy,  are  not 
things  the  most  easily  digested.  Immediately  afterward 
you  sit  down  to  write  at  your  desk,  or  converse  with  per- 
sons who  apply  to  you  on  business.  Thus  the  time  passes  40 
till  one,  without  any  kind  of  bodily  exercise.     But  all  this 

I  could  pardon,  in  regard,  as  you  say,  to  your  sedentary 
condition.  But  what  is  your  practice  after  dinner? 
Walking  in  the  beautiful  gardens  of  those  friends  with 
whom  you  have  dined,  would  be  the  choice  of  a  man  of  45 
sense ;  yours  is  to  be  fixed  down  to  chess,  where  you  are 
found  engaged  for  two  or  three  hours  !  This  is  your  per- 
petual recreation,  which  is  the  least  eligible  of  any  for  a 

25.   Here  rhetoric  is  used  partly  in  the  old  sense  —  the  art  of  persuasion 

—  and  partly  in  the  sense  of  fine,  high-sounding  language. 


THE  ATHLETE  ^3 

sedentary  man,  because,  instead  of  accelerating  the  motion 
of  the  fluids,  the  rigid  attention  it  requires  helps  to  retard  5° 
the  circulation  and  obstruct  internal  secretions.     Wrapt 
in  the  speculations  of  this  wretched  game,  you  destroy 
your  constitution.     What  can  be  expected  from  such  a 
course  of  living,  but  a  body  replete  with  stagnant  humors, 
ready  to  fall  a  prey  to  all  kinds  of  dangerous  maladies,  if  I,  55 
the  Gout,  did  not  occasionally  bring  you  relief  by  agitating 
those  humors,  and  so  purifying  or  dissipating  them  ?    If  it 
was  in  some  nook  or  alley  in  Paris,  deprived  of  walks,  that 
you  played  awhile  at  chess  after  dinner,  this  might  be 
excusable  ;  but  the  same  taste  prevails  with  you  in  Passy,  60 
Auteuil,  Montmartre,  or  Savoy,  —  places  where  there  are 
the  finest  gardens  and  walks,  a  pure  air,  beautiful  women, 
and  most  agreeable  and  instructive  conversation;  all  of 
which  you  might  enjoy  by  frequenting  the  walks.     But 
these  are  rejected  for  this  abominable  game  of  chess.  65 
Fie,  then,  Mr.  Franklin  !     But,  amidst  my  instructions,  I 
had  almost  forgot  to  administer  my  wholesome  correc- 
tions ;  so  take  that  twinge,  —  and  that ! 

Franklin.     Oh  !  eh  !  oh  !  ohhh  !     As  much  instruction 
as  you  please,  Madam  Gout,  and  as  many  reproaches ;  70 
but  pray,  madam,  a  truce  with  your  corrections  ! 

Gout.     No,  sir,  no  :  I  will  not  abate  a  particle  of  what 
is  so  much  for  your  good,  —  therefore  — 

Franklin.     Oh  !  ehhh  !  —  It  is  not  fair  to  say  I  take 
no  exercise,  when  I  do  very  often,  going  out  to  dine,  and  75 
returning  in  my  carriage. 

Gout.  That,  of  all  imaginable  exercises,  is  the  most 
slight  and  insignificant,  if  you  allude  to  the  motion  of  a 
carriage  suspended  on  springs.  By  observing  the  degree 
of  heat  obtained  by  different  kinds  of  motion,  we  may  80 
form  an  estimate  of  the  quantity  of  exercise  given  by 
each.     Thus  for  example,  if  you  turn  out  to  walk   in 


!84  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

winter  with  cold  feet,  in  an  hour's  time  you  will  be  in  a  glow 
all  over ;  ride  on  horseback,  the  same  effect  will  scarcely 
be  perceived  by  four  hours'  round  trotting;  but  if  you  85 
loll  in  a  carriage,  such  as  you  have  mentioned,  you  may 
travel  all  day,  and  gladly  enter  the  last  inn  to  warm  your 
feet  by  the  fire.      Flatter  yourself  then  no  longer,  that 
half  an  hour's  airing  in  your  carriage  deserves  the  name 
of  exercise.      Providence  has  appointed  few  to  roll   in  90 
carriages,  while  he  has  given  to  all  a  pair  of  legs,  which 
are  machines  infinitely  more  commodious  and  service- 
able.   Be  grateful,  then,  and  make  a  proper  use  of  yours. 
Would  you  know  how  they  forward  the   circulation  of 
your  fluids,  in  the  very  action  of  transporting  you  from  95 
place  to  place  :    observe,  when  you  walk,  that  all  your 
weight  is  alternately  thrown  from  one  leg  to  the  other ; 
this  occasions  a  great  pressure  on  the  vessels  of  the  foot, 
and  repels  their  contents ;  when  relieved,  by  the  weight 
of  being  thrown  on  the  other  foot,  the  vessels  of  the  first  100 
are  allowed  to  replenish,  and,  by  a  return  of  this  weight, 
this  repulsion  again  succeeds ;  thus  accelerating  the  cir- 
culation of  the  blood.     The  heat  produced  in  any  given 
time  depends  on  the  degree  of  this  acceleration ;   the 
fluids  are  shaken,  the  humors  alternated,  the  secretions  105 
facilitated,  and  all  goes  well ;  the  cheeks  are  ruddy,  and 
health  is  established.     Behold  your  fair  friend  at  Auteuil ; 
a  lady  who  received  from  bounteous  nature  more  really 
useful   science   than   half  a   dozen  such  pretenders   to 
philosophy  as  you  have  been  able  to  extract  from  all  no 
your  books.      When  she  honors  you  with  a  visit,  it  is 
on  foot.      She  walks  all  hours  of  the  day,  and  leaves 
indolence  and  its  concomitant  maladies  to  be  endured 
by  her  horses.     In  this  see  at  once  the  preservative  of 
her  health  and  personal  charms.     But  when  you  go  to  115 
Auteuil,  you   must  have  your  carriage,  though  it  is  no 


THE  ATHLETE  1 85 

further   from    Passy    to   Auteuil    than    from   Auteuil   to 
Passy. 

Franklin.     Your  reasonings  grow  very  tiresome. 

Gout.     I  stand  corrected.     I  will  be  silent  and  con-  120 
tinue  my  office ;  take  that,  and  that. 

Franklin.     Oh  !  ohh  !     Talk  on,  I  pray  you  ! 

Gout.  No,  no;  I  have  a  good  number  of  twinges 
for  you  to-night,  and  you  may  be  sure  of  some  more 
to-morrow.  125 

Franklin.  What,  with  such  a  fever !  I  shall  go  dis- 
tracted.    Oh  !  eh  !     Can  no  one  bear  it  for  me? 

Gout.  Ask  that  of  your  horses  ;  they  have  served  you 
faithfully. 

Franklin.      How  can  you  so  cruelly  sport  with  my  130 
torments  ? 

Gout.  Sport !  I  am  very  serious.  I  have  here  a  list 
of  offences  against  your  own  health  distinctly  written, 
and  can  justify  every  stroke  inflicted  on  you. 

Franklin.     Read  it,  then.  135 

Gout.  It  is  too  long  a  detail ;  but  I  will  briefly  men- 
tion some  particulars. 

Franklin.     Proceed.     I  am  all  attention. 

Gout.  Do  you  remember  how  often  you  have  prom- 
ised yourself,  the  following  morning  a  walk  in  the  grove  140 
of  Bologne,  in  the  Garden  de  la  Muette,  or  in  your  own 
garden,  and  have  violated  your  promise,  alleging  at  one 
time  it  was  too  cold,  at  another  too  warm,  too  windy,  too 
moist,  or  what  else  you  pleased  ;  when  in  truth  it  was  too 
nothing  but  your  inseparable  love  of  ease  ?  14s 

Franklin.  That,  I  confess,  may  have  happened  oc- 
casionally ;  probably  ten  times  in  a  year. 

Gout.  Your  confession  is  very  far  short  of  the  truth ; 
the  gross  amount  is  one  hundred  and  ninety-nine  times. 

Franklin.     Is  it  possible?  150 


1 86  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Gout.  So  possible  that  it  is  fact;  you  may  rely  on 
the  accuracy  of  my  statement.  You  know  M.  Brillon's 
gardens,  and  what  fine  walks  they  contain;  you  know 
the  handsome  flight  of  an  hundred  steps,  which  lead 
from  the  terrace  above  to  the  lawn  below.  You  have  155 
been  in  the  practice  of  visiting  this  amiable  family  twice 
a  week  after  dinner,  and  it  is  a  maxim  of  your  own,  that 
"  a  man  may  take  as  much  exercise  in  walking  a  mile,  up 
and  down  stairs,  as  in  ten  on  level  ground."  What  an 
opportunity  was  here  for  you  to  have  had  exercise  in  160 
both  these  ways  !     Did  you  embrace  it,  and  how  often  ? 

Franklin.    I  cannot  immediately  answer  that  question. 

Gout.     I  will  do  it  for  you.     Not  once. 

Franklin.     Not  once? 

Gout.     Even  so.     During  the  summer  you  went  there  165 
at  six  o'clock.     You  found  the  charming  lady  with  her 
lovely  children  and  friends,  eager  to  walk  with  you  and 
entertain   you  with   their   agreeable  conversation;    and 
what  has  been  your  choice  ?    Why,  to  sit  on  the  terrace, 
satisfy  yourself  with  the  fine  prospect,  and  passing  your  170 
eye  over  the  beauties  of  the  garden  below,  without  taking 
one  step  to  descend  and  walk  about  in  them.     On  the 
contrary,  you  call  for  tea  and  the  chessboard ;  and  lo  ! 
you  are  occupied  in  your  seat  till  nine  o'clock,  and  that 
besides  two  hours'  play  after  dinner ;   and  then,  instead  175 
of  walking  home,  which  would  have  bestirred  you  a  little, 
you  step  into  your  carriage.      How  absurd  to  suppose 
that  all  this  carelessness  can  be  reconcilable  with  health, 
without  my  interposition  ! 

Franklin.      I   am  convinced  now  of  the  justness  of  180 
Poor  Richard's  remark,  that  "Our  debts   and  our  sins 
are  always  greater  than  we  think  for." 

Gout.     So  it  is.     You  philosophers  are  sages  in  your 
maxims,  and  fools  in  your  conduct. 


THE  ATHLETE  1 87 

Franklin.     But  do  you  charge  among  my  crimes  that  185 
I  return  in  a  carriage  from  M.  Brillon's? 

Gout.  Certainly;  for,  having  been  seated  all  the 
while,  you  cannot  object  the  fatigue  of  the  day,  and  can- 
not want,  therefore,  the  relief  of  a  carriage. 

Franklin.     What,  then,  would  you  have  me  do  with  190 
my  carriage  ? 

Gout.  Burn  it  if  you  choose  :  you  would  at  least  get 
heat  out  of  it  once  in  this  way ;  or,  if  you  dislike  that 
proposal,  here's  another  for  you :  observe  the  poor 
peasants,  who  work  in  the  vineyards  and  grounds  about  195 
the  villages  of  Passy,  Auteuil,  Chaillot,  etc.,  you  may  find 
every  day  among  these  deserving  creatures,  four  or  five 
old  men  and  women,  bent  and  perhaps  crippled  by  weight 
of  years  and  too  long  and  too  great  labor.  After  a  most 
fatiguing  day,  these  people  have  to  trudge  a  mile  or  two  200 
to  their  smoky  huts.  Order  your  coachman  to  set  them 
down.  This  is  an  act  that  will  be  good  for  your  soul ; 
and  at  the  same  time  after  your  visit  to  the  Brillons,  if 
you  return  on  foot  that  will  be  good  for  your  body. 

Franklin.     Ah  !  how  tiresome  you  are  !  205 

Gout.  Well,  then,  to  my  office ;  it  should  not  be  for- 
gotten that  I  am  your  physician.     There  ! 

Franklin.     Oh-h-h  !     What  a  devil  of  a  physician  ! 

Gout.     How  ungrateful  you  are  to  say  so  !     Is  it  not 
I  who,  in  the  character  of  your  physician,  have  saved  you  210 
from  the  palsy,  dropsy,  and  apoplexy  ?  one  or  other  of 
which  would  have  done  for  you  long  ago,  but  for  me. 

Franklin,  I  submit,  and  thank  you  for  the  past,  but 
entreat  the  discontinuance  of  your  visits  for  the  future ; 
for,  in  my  mind,  one  had  better  die  than  be  cured  so  215 
dolefully.  Permit  me  just  to  hint,  that  I  have  also  not 
been  unfriendly  to  you.  I  never  feed  physician  or  quack 
of  any  kind,  to  enter  the  list  against  you ;  if  then  you 


iSS  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

do  not  leave  me  to  ray  repose,  it  may  be  said  you  are 
ungrateful  too.  220 

Gout.  I  can  scarcely  acknowledge  that  as  an  objec- 
tion. As  to  quacks,  I  despise  them ;  they  may  kill  you 
indeed,  but  cannot  injure  me.  And,  as  to  regular  physi- 
cians, they  are  at  last  convinced  that  the  gout,  in  such 
a  subject  as  you  are,  is  no  disease,  but  a  remedy ;  and  225 
wherefore  cure  a  remedy  ?  —  But  to  our  business ;  there  ! 

Franklin.  Oh  !  oh  !  —  for  Heaven's  sake  leave  me, 
and  I  promise  faithfully  never  more  to  play  at  chess,  but 
to  take  exercise  daily  and  live  temperately. 

Gout.  I  know  you  too  well.  You  promise  fair ;  but  230 
after  a  few  months  of  good  health  you  will  return  to  your 
old  habits ;  your  fine  promises  will  be  forgotten  like  the 
forms  of  the  last  year's  clouds.  Let  us  then  finish  the 
account,  and  I  will  go.  But  I  leave  you  with  an  assur- 
ance of  visiting  you  again  at  a  proper  time  and  place ;  235 
for  my  object  is  your  good,  and  you  are  sensible  now  that 
I  am  your  real  friend. 


THE   LYRA  PRAYER 

Richard  Jefferies 

One  evening,  when  the  bright  white  star  in  Lyra  was 
shining  almost  at  the  zenith  over  me,  and  the  deep  con- 
cave was  the  more  profound  in  the  dusk,  I  formulated  it 
[his  soul's-desire]  into  three  divisions.  First,  I  desired 
that  I  might  do  or  find  something  to  exalt  the  soul,  some-  c 
thing  to  enable  it  to  live  its  own  life,  a  more  powerful 
existence  now.  Secondly,  I  desired  to  be  able  to  do 
something  for  the  flesh,  to  make  a  discovery  or  perfect 

1  Reprinted  from  "  The  Story  of  rhy  Heart,"  by  permission  of  Long- 
mans, Green,  &  Co. 


THE  ATHLETE 


189 


a  method  by  which  the  fleshly  body  might  enjoy  more 
pleasure,  longer  life,  and  suffer  less  pain.  Thirdly,  to  10 
construct  a  more  flexible  engine  with  which  to  carry  into 
execution  the  design  of  the  will.  I  called  this  the  Lyra 
prayer,  to  distinguish  it  from  the  far  deeper  emotion  in 
which  the  soul  was  alone  concerned. 

Of  the  three  divisions,  the  last  was  of  so  little  impor-  15 
tance  that  it  scarcely  deserved  to  be  named  in  conjunc- 
tion with  the  others.     Mechanism  increases  convenience 
—  in  no  degree  does  it  confer  physical  or  moral  perfec- 
tion.    The  rudimentary  engines  employed  thousands  of 
years  ago  in  raising  buildings  were  in  that  respect  equal  20 
to  the  complicated  machines  of  the  present  day.     Con- 
trol of  iron  and  steel  has  not  altered  or  improved  the 
bodily  man.     I  even  debated  some  time  whether  such 
a  third  division  should  be  included  at  all.     Our  bodies 
are  now  conveyed  all  round   the  world  with   ease,   but  25 
obtain  no  advantage.    As  they  start,  so  they  return.    The 
most  perfect  human  families  of  ancient  times  were  almost 
stationary,  as  those  of  Greece.     Perfection  of  form  was 
found  in  Sparta ;  how  small  a  spot  compared  to  those 
continents   over  which  we  are  now  taken  so  quickly  !  30 
Such  perfection  of  form  might  perhaps  again  dwell,  con- 
tented and  complete  in  itself,  on  such  a  strip  of  land  as 
I  could  see  between  me  and  the  sand  of  the  sea.     Again, 
a  watch  keeping  correct  time  is  no  guarantee  that  the 
bearer  shall  not  suffer  pain.     The  owner  of  the  watch  35 
may  be  soulless,  without  mind-fire,  a  mere  creature.     No 
benefit  to  the  heart  or  to  the  body  accrues  from  the 
most  accurate  mechanism.     Hence   I  debated  whether 
the  third  division  should  be  included.     But  I  reflected 
that  time  cannot  be  put  back  on  the  dial,  we  cannot  40 
return  to  Sparta ;  there  is  an  existent  state  of  things,  and 
existent  multitudes  ;  and  possibly  a  more  powerful  engine, 


190 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


flexible  to  the  will,  might  give  them  that  freedom  which 
is  the  one,  and  the  one  only,  political  or  social  idea  I 
possess.     For  liberty,  therefore,  let  it  be  included.  4S 

For  the  flesh,  this  arm  of  mine,  the  limbs  of  others 
gracefully  moving,  let  me  find  something  that  will  give 
them  greater  perfection,  that  the  bones  may  be  firmer, 
somewhat  larger  if  that  would  be  an  advantage,  certainly 
stronger,  that  the  cartilage  and  sinews  may  be  more  en-  50 
during,  and  the  muscles  more  powerful,  something  after 
the  manner  of  those  ideal  limbs  and  muscles  sculptured 
of  old,  these  in  the  flesh  and  real.  That  the  organs  of 
the  body  may  be  stronger  in  their  action,  perfect,  and 
lasting.  That  the  exterior  flesh  may  be  yet  more  beauti-  55 
ful ;  that  the  shape  may  be  finer,  and  the  motions  grace- 
ful. These  are  the  soberest  words  I  can  find,  purposely 
chosen ;  for  I  am  so  rapt  in  the  beauty  of  the  human 
form,  and  so  earnestly,  so  inexpressibly,  prayerful  to  see 
that  form  perfect,  that  my  full  thought  is  not  to  be  60 
written.  Unable  to  express  it  fully,  I  have  considered  it 
best  to  put  it  in  the  simplest  manner  of  words.  I 
believe  in  the  human  form ;  let  me  find  something, 
some  method,  by  which  that  form  may  achieve  the 
utmost  beauty.  Its  beauty  is  like  an  arrow,  which  may  65 
be  shot  any  distance  according  to  the  strength  of  the 
bow.  So  the  idea  expressed  in  the  human  shape  is 
capable  of  indefinite  expansion  and  elevation  of  beauty. 

Of  the  mind,  the  inner  consciousness,  the  soul,  my 
prayer  desired  that  I  might  discover  a  mode  of  life  for  70 
it,  so  that  it  might  not  only  conceive  of  such  a  life  for  it, 
but  actually  enjoy  it  on  the  earth.  I  wished  to  search 
out  a  new  and  higher  set  of  ideas  on  which  the  mind 
should  work.  The  simile  of  a  new  book  of  the  soul  is 
the  nearest  to  convey  the  meaning  —  a  book  drawn  from  75 
the  present  and  future,  not  the  past.     Instead  of  a  set  of 


THE  ATHLETE  jg! 

ideas  based  on  tradition,  let  me  give  the  mind  a  new 
thought  drawn  straight  from  the  wondrous  present,  direct 
this  very  hour.  Next,  to  furnish  the  soul  with  the  means 
of  executing  its  will,  of  carrying  thought  into  action.  In  80 
other  words,  for  the  soul  to  become  a  power.  These 
three  formed  the  Lyra  prayer,  of  which  the  two  first  are 
immeasurably  the  more  important.  I  believe  in  the 
human  being,  mind  and  flesh,  form  and  soul. 


SIR  GALAHAD 
Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 

My  good  blade  carves  the  casques  of  men, 

My  tough  lance  thrusteth  sure, 
My  strength  is  as  the  strength  of  ten, 

Because  my  heart  is  pure. 
The  shattering  trumpet  shrilleth  high,  5 

The  hard  brands  shiver  on  the  steel, 
The  splinter'd  spear-shafts  crack  and  fly, 

The  horse  and  rider  reel : 
They  reel,  they  roll  in  clanging  lists, 

And  when  the  tide  of  combat  stands,  10 

Perfume  and  flowers  fall  in  showers, 

That  lightly  rain  from  ladies'  hands. 

How  sweet  are  looks  that  ladies  bend 

On  whom  their  favors  fall ! 
For  them  I  battle  till  the  end,  15 

To  save  from  shame  and  thrall : 
But  all  my  heart  is  drawn  above, 

My  knees  are  bow'd  in  crypt  and  shrine : 


1 92  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

I  never  felt  the  kiss  of  love, 

Nor  maiden's  hand  in  mine.  20 

More  bounteous  aspects  on  me  beam, 

Me  mightier  transports  move  and  thrill ; 
So  keep  I  fair  thro'  faith  and  prayer 

A  virgin  heart  in  work  and  will. 

When  down  the  stormy  crescent  goes,  25 

A  light  before  me  swims, 
Between  dark  stems  the  forest  glows, 

I  hear  a  noise  of  hymns  : 
Then  by  some  secret  shrine  I  ride ; 

I  hear  a  voice  but  none  are  there ;  30 

The  stalls  are  void,  the  doors  are  wide, 

The  tapers  burning  fair. 
Fair  gleams  the  snowy  altar-cloth, 

The  silver  vessels  sparkle  clean, 
The  shrill  bell  rings,  the  censer  swings,  35 

And  solemn  chants  resound  between. 

Sometimes  on  lonely  mountain-meres 

I  find  a  magic  bark  ; 
I  leap  on  board  :  no  helmsman  steers : 

I  float  till  all  is  dark.  40 

A  gentle  sound,  an  awful  light ! 

Three  angels  bear  the  Holy  Grail : 
With  folded  feet,  in  stoles  of  white, 

On  sleeping  wings  they  sail. 
Ah,  blessed  vision  !  blood  of  God  !  45 

My  spirit  beats  her  mortal  bars, 
As  down  dark  tides  the  glory  slides, 

And  star-like  mingles  with  the  stars. 

37.  meres,  lakes. 


THE  ATHLETE 


193 


When  on  my  goodly  charger  borne 

Thro'  dreaming  towns  I  go,  50 

The  cock  crows  ere  the  Christmas  morn, 

The  streets  are  dumb  with  snow. 
The  tempest  crackles  on  the  leads, 

And,  ringing,  spins  from  brand  and  mail ; 
But  o'er  the  dark  a  glory  spreads,  55 

And  gilds  the  driving  hail. 
I  leave  the  plain,  I  climb  the  height ; 

No  branchy  thicket  shelter  yields  ; 
But  blessed  forms  in  whistling  storms 

Fly  o'er  waste  fens  and  windy  fields.  60 

A  maiden  knight  —  to  me  is  given 

Such  hope,  I  know  not  fear ; 
I  yearn  to  breathe  the  airs  of  heaven 

That  often  meet  me  here. 
I  muse  on  joy  that  will  not  cease,  65 

Pure  spaces  cloth'd  in  living  beams, 
Pure  lilies  of  eternal  peace, 

Whose  odors  haunt  my  dreams ; 
And,  stricken  by  an  angel's  hand, 

This  mortal  armor  that  I  wear,  70 

This  weight  and  size,  this  heart  and  eyes, 

Are  touch'd,  are  turn'd  to  finest  air. 

The  clouds  are  broken  in  the  sky, 

And  thro'  the  mountain-walls 
A  rolling  organ-harmony  75 

Swells  up,  and  shakes  and  falls. 
Then  move  the  trees,  the  copses  nod, 

Wings  flutter,  voices  hover  clear : 

53.  leads,  the  leaden  plates  of  the  roofs. 
o 


1 94  S  TUD  Y  OF  LITER  A  TURE 

"  O  just  and  faithful  knight  of  God  ! 

Ride  on  !  the  prize  is  near."  80 

So  pass  I  hostel,  hall,  and  grange ; 

By  bridge  and  ford,  by  park  and  pale, 
All-arm'd  I  ride,  whate'er  betide, 

Until  I  find  the  Holy  Grail. 

The  poem  is  a  panorama,  beginning  with  a  picture  of  the  actual  jousts 
of  knighthood,  then  proceeding  with  magic  picture  after  magic  picture  of 
what  happened  to  Galahad  on  his  quest.  These  pictures  are  partly  from 
the  old  Celtic  legends  of  the  miraculous  sights  that  Galahad  saw ;  but  they 
are  mostly  the  product  of  Tennyson's  imagination.  Try  to  tell  from  memory 
the  successive  pictures,  entering  into  the  mysterious  feeling  of  the  poem. 


Plan  of  Summary.  —  Reviewing  the  chapter,  (1)  enumerate  the 
kinds  of  metre,  designating  them  by  the  number  of  accents,  and  by  the 
predominant  foot.  Then  (2)  say  which  poem  is  most  noticeable  for 
melody;  (3)  which  for  beauty  of  suggested  sights;  (4)  which  for  pleas- 
ure of  suggested  sounds;  (5)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  activity; 
(6)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  odors  or  tastes;  (7)  which  is 
most  easily  understood;  (8)  which  moves  the  reader  most  deeply; 
(9)  which  shows  most  skill  in  character  drawing;  (10)  which  has 
the  best  unity;  (11)  which,  your  critical  judgment  tells  you,  is  the 
best  piece  of  work;  (12)  which  you  like  the  best,  without  regard 
to  its  deserved  rank,  or  its  fame. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  ADVENTURER 

Boys  do  not  need  to  be  urged  to  read  the  Leather-Stock- 
ing Tales,  in  which  the  actors  have  to  depend  on  their 
native  gifts  of  eye  and  ear  and  limb,  like  that  embodiment 
of  self-reliance,  Natty  Bumppo.  It  is  a  sign  of  old  age  not 
to  like  a  good  story  of  pioneer  life,  or  of  shipwreck  on  a 
desert  island. 

Some  forms  of  adventure  are  best  told  in  verse.     Rhythm  The  Cow- 
is  necessary  in  order  to  suggest  the  sense  of  freedom  felt  by   Boy>  P*  I98- 
a  roving  cow-boy.     Longfellow,  who  was  fond  of  travelling 
by  imagination,  usually  chose  verse  rather  than  prose  to 
express  the  dreamy  flight  his  fancy  took  to  other  lands. 
He  watches  the  red  sand  in  the  hour-glass,  and  gradually  Sandofthe 
he  sees,  in  his  mind's  eye,  the  wastes  of  Arabia,  the  cara-   De^rt  in 

'  J    '  an  Hour- 

vans,  the  sand-storms,  and  even  the  biblical  scenes  that  we   Glass, 

associate  with  the  desert.     Longfellow  finds  that  the  impulse  P-  2°°- 

to  explore  the  sea  and  the  mysterious  lands  beyond  it  is  o^eSea. 

a  poetic  impulse.      His  poem  reminds  grown  men  of  the  p.  202. 

days  when  they  fancied  that  everything  beyond  the  horizon 

was  strange  and  new,  and  that  the  very  soil  of  foreign  lands 

was  magically  different  from  our  own.     But  chiefly  it  reminds 

them  that  the  secret  of  the  sea  always  remains  a  secret 

except  to  those  who  brave  its  dangers. 

Nor  are  the  adventurers  celebrated  in  song  less  brave 

than  those  of  prose.     Longfellow  told  in  simple  verse  the 

story  of  the  old  Viking  who  discovered  the  North  Cape. 

Such  a  man  was  surely  as  venturesome  as  Jim  Hawkins  in 

Treasure    Island.     The   parrots   and   savages   of  Crusoe's 

195 


196 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


acquaintance  are  inconsiderable  when  compared  with  the 
creatures  of  the  haunted  isles  seen  by  the  old  Irish  voy- 
agers in  Tennyson's  Maeldune.  And  Pathfinder's  excursions 
through  the  woods  or  the  prairies  were  not  more  wonderful 
than  the  voyage  of  Ulysses  beyond  the  sunset  and  the  baths 
of  all  the  western  stars. 

Tennyson's  Maeldune  is  an  old  Irish  legend  of  a  hero 
who  put  to  sea  with  his  friends  to  find  the  slayer  of  his 
father.  As  they  approached  the  murderer's  island  home,  a 
wind  blew  them  out  and  away  into  the  boundless  sea.  They 
came  to  an  island  where  all  was  silence ;  even  the  waterfall 
made  no  sound;  then  to  one  where  all  was  shouting  and 
uproar.  They  sailed  on  to  an  isle  of  flowers  —  nothing 
but  flowers  —  then  to  one  all  fruits.  Some  of  their  number 
perished  at  the  land  of  fire,  and  others  at  the  magic  isle 
under  the  sea.  At  the  isle  of  bounty  a  magic  hand  fed  all 
until  they  became  slothful  and  quarrelsome.  Then  the  isle 
of  witches  tried  to  coax  their  ship  upon  the  rocks.  After 
that  they  passed  to  the  isle  of  the  double  towers,  strange 
buildings  that  rocked  against  each  other,  one  smooth,  one 
sculptured.  Here  they  insanely  fell  to  fighting  each  other 
over  the  merits  of  the  opposing  towers,  and  half  were  slain. 
At  last  they  came  to  the  isle  of  a  saint,  who  bade  Maeldune 
remember  that  vengeance  is  the  Lord's,  and  sent  him  back 
home,  exhausted  and  awed. 

Tennyson's  Ulysses  is  in  the  spirit  of  the  antique,  but 
it  represents  that  hero  as  doing  something  not  told  of  in  the 
Odyssey.  Once  restored  to  his  native  Ithaca  after  long 
wanderings,  he  cannot  rest,  but  must  adventure  again.  He 
calls  to  his  friends  to  embark  once  more  with  him,  and 
sitting  well  in  order  smite  the  sounding  furrows.  He  will 
sail  into  the  uttermost  west.  It  may  be  that  the  gulfs  will 
wash  him  down ;  it  may  be  he  will  reach  the  happy  isles 
of  the  dead.     At  all  events,  he  is  determined  to  strive,  to 


THE  ADVENTURER 


197 


seek,  to  find,  and  not  to  yield.  The  brave  Norse  explorer 
who  built  and  ventured  in  the  Fram  has  given  a  new  force 
to  these  last  words  by  quoting  them  as  the  expression  of  his 
own  ambition. 

To  speak  of  discoverers  is  to  recall  the  famous  finding  a  Meeting 
of  Livingstone.      It  used  to  be  said  that  a  redskin  would   mJ~ Hearl 

0  of  Africa, 

make  an  appointment,  months  ahead,  to  be  at  a  certain  tree  p.  214. 
in  a  far-distant  region  at  precisely  such  an  hour,  and  would 
keep  the  appointment  to  the  minute.  But  the  Indian, 
achieving  such  a  feat  in  a  temperate  climate,  among  tribes 
closely  related  to  him  in  nature  and  speech,  is  less  remark- 
able than  young  Stanley,  fighting  his  way  for  months  through 
unmapped  tropical  forests,  amid  the  gravest  dangers  from 
heat,  miasma,  serpents,  wild  beasts,  and  wilder  savages,  yet 
reaching  the  hut  he  sought.  Stanley  himself  has  told  the 
story  with  fine  restraint.  Every  American  is  glad  that  their 
young  countryman  did  not  gush  at  the  last  moment,  but 
merely  said,  "  Dr.  Livingstone,  I  presume." 

In  one  of  his  poems  Mr.  Kipling  speaks  of  the  "out- 
trail," —  the  path  of  the  adventurer.  The  "out-trail"  calls 
to  the  blood  of  every  youth,  and  in  one  form  or  another  it 
must  be  obeyed.  It  may  call  neither  to  Africa,  nor  China, 
nor  the  plains.  It  may  call  the  country  lad  to  that  worst  of 
wildernesses,  the  city.  It  often  summons  the  ambitious  son 
of  poverty  to  school,  whither  he  thought  he  never  could 
afford  to  go.  To  start  out,  with  no  visible  means  of  sup- 
port, to  get  an  education,  is  as  adventurous  as  piracy.  But, 
whithersoever  the  out-trail  may  call,  the  youth  ought  to 
leave  home  with  a  pang.  A  youth  who  is  unqualifiedly  glad 
to  get  away  from  home  promises  ill.  Robert  Louis  Steven- 
son's ballad  of  a  Christmas  at  Sea  puts  this  matter  in  just 
the  right  light.  A  young  sailor  is  telling  of  the  trouble  his 
ship  had  in  putting  to  sea  on  a  given  Christmas  Day.  The 
winds  seemed  determined  to  drive  the  craft  on  the  rocks. 


198 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


It  so  happened  that  all  this  occurred  very  close  to  the  spot 
where  the  young  sailor's  father  lived.  The  boy  could  see 
the  homestead  easily,  and  imagine  his  parents  by  the  fireside. 

■  And  well  I  knew  the  talk  they  had,  the  talk  that  was  of  me, 
Of  the  shadow  on  the  household  and  the  son  that  went  to  sea ; 
And,  oh,  the  wicked  fool  I  seemed,  in  every  kind  of  way, 
To  be  here  and  hauling  frozen  ropes  on  blessed  Christmas  Day. 

"  And  they  heaved  a  mighty  breath,  every  soul  on  board  but  me, 

As  they  saw  her  nose  again  pointing  handsome  out  to  sea  ; 

But  all  that  I  could  think  of  in  the  darkness  and  the  cold, 

Was  just  that  I  was  leaving  home,  and  my  folks  were  growing  old." 


THE  COW-BOY 
John  Antrobus 

"  What  care  I,  what  cares  he, 

What  cares  the  world  of  the  life  we  know  ! 

Little  they  reck  of  the  shadowless  plains, 

The  shelterless  mesa,  the  sun  and  the  rains, 

The  wild,  free  life,  as  the  winds  that  blow."  5 

With  his  broad  sombrero, 

His  worn  chapparejos, 

And  clinking  spurs, 

Like  a  Centaur  he  speeds, 

Where  the  wild  bull  feeds ;  10 

And  he  laughs  ha,  ha  !  who  cares,  who  cares  ! 

Ruddy  and  brown  —  careless  and  free  — 
A  king  in  the  saddle  —  he  rides  at  will 
O'er  the  measureless  range  where  rarely  change, 
The  swart  gray  plains  so  weird  and  strange,  15 

Treeless,  and  streamless,  and  wondrous  still ! 
4.  mesa,  table-land.    7.  chapparejos  (chapparayhos),  leather  breeches. 


THE  ADVENTURER  jqq 

With  his  slouch  sombrero, 
His  torn  chapparejos, 
And  clinking  spurs, 

Like  a  Centaur  he  speeds  20 

Where  the  wild  bull  feeds; 
And  he  laughs  ha,  ha  !  who  cares,  who  cares  ! 

He  of  the  towns,  he  of  the  East, 

Has  only  a  vague  dull  thought  of  him; 

In  his  far-off  dreams  the  cow-boy  seems  25 

A  mythical  thing,  a  thing  he  deems 

A  Hun  or  a  Goth,  as  swart  and  grim  ! 

With  his  stained  sombrero, 

His  rough  chapparejos, 

And  clinking  spurs,  30 

Like  a  Centaur  he  speeds 

Where  the  wild  bull  feeds  ; 
And  he  laughs  ha,  ha  !  who  cares,  who  cares  ! 

Swift  and  strong,  and  ever  alert, 

Yet  sometimes  he  rests  on  the  dreary  vast ;  35 

And  his  thoughts,  like  the  thoughts  of  other  men, 

Go  back  to  his  childhood's  days  again, 

And  to  many  a  loved  one  in  the  past. 

With  his  gay  sombrero, 

His  rude  chapparejos,  40 

And  clinking  spurs, 

He  rests  awhile, 

With  a  tear  and  a  smile, 
Then  he  laughs  ha,  ha  !  who  cares,  who  cares  ! 

Tis  over  late  at  the  ranchman's  gate  —  45 

He  and  his  fellows,  perhaps  a  score, 
Halt  in  a  quarrel  o'er  night  begun, 
With  a  ready  blow  and  a  random  gun  — 
There's  a  comrade  dead,  dead  !  nothing  more. 


200  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

With  his  slouched  sombrero,  50 

His  dark  chapparejos, 
And  clinking  spurs, 
He  dashes  past 
With  face  o'ercast 
And  growls  in  his  throat  —  who  cares,  who  cares  !   55 

The  author  of  this  poem  was  also  a  painter,  and  had  a  picture  on  the 
same  subject.  Note  that  the  refrain  has  four  unrhymed  lines.  Does  this 
irregular  refrain  commend  itself  after  several  readings  ?  If  so,  why  ?  Are 
there  any  gains  in  the  changes  in  the  refrain  from  stanza  to  stanza  ? 


SAND   OF  THE   DESERT   IN   AN   HOUR-GLASS 
Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

A  handful  of  red  sand,  from  the  hot  clime 

Of  Arab  deserts  brought, 
Within  this  glass  becomes  the  spy  of  Time, 

The  minister  of  Thought. 

How  many  weary  centuries  has  it  been  5 

About  those  deserts  blown  ! 
How  many  strange  vicissitudes  has  seen, 

How  many  histories  known  ! 

Perhaps  the  camels  of  the  Ishmaelite 

Trampled  and  passed  it  o'er,  10 

When  into  Egypt  from  the  patriarch's  sight 
His  favorite  son  they  bore. 

Perhaps  the  feet  of  Moses,  burnt  and  bare, 

Crushed  it  beneath  their  tread ; 
Or  Pharaoh's  flashing  wheels  into  the  air  15 

Scattered  it  as  they  sped ; 


THE  ADVENTURER  201 

Or  Mary,  with  the  Christ  of  Nazareth 

Held  close  in  her  caress, 
Whose  pilgrimage  of  hope  and  love  and  faith 

Illumed  the  wilderness  ;  20 

Or  anchorites  beneath  Engaddi's  palms 

Pacing  the  Dead  Sea  beach, 
And  singing  slow  their  old  Armenian  psalms 

In  half-articulate  speech ; 

Or  caravans,  that  from  Bassora's  gate  25 

With  westward  steps  depart ; 
Or  Mecca's  pilgrims,  confident  of  Fate, 

And  resolute  in  heart ! 

These  have  passed  over  it,  or  may  have  passed  ! 

Now  in  this  crystal  tower  3° 

Imprisoned  by  some  curious  hand  at  last, 

It  counts  the  passing  hour. 

And  as  I  gaze,  these  narrow  walls  expand ;  — 

Before  my  dreamy  eye 
Stretches  the  desert  with  its  shifting  sand,  35 

Its  unimpeded  sky. 

And  borne  aloft  by  the  sustaining  blast, 

This  little  golden  thread 
Dilates  into  a  column  high  and  vast, 

A  form  of  fear  and  dread.  40 

And  onward,  and  across  the  setting  sun, 

Across  the  boundless  plain, 
The  column  and  its  broader  shadow  run, 

Till  thought  pursues  in  vain. 


202  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

The  vision  vanishes  !     These  walls  again  45 

Shut  out  the  lurid  sun, 
Shut  out  the  hot,  immeasurable  plain ; 

The  half-hour's  sand  is  run  ! 


THE   SECRET  OF  THE   SEA 
Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

Ah  !  what  pleasant  visions  haunt  me 

As  I  gaze  upon  the  sea  ! 
All  the  old  romantic  legends, 

All  my  dreams  come  back  to  me. 

Sails  of  silk  and  ropes  of  sendal, 
Such  as  gleam  in  ancient  lore  ; 

And  the  singing  of  the  sailors, 
And  the  answer  from  the  shore  ! 

Most  of  all,  the  Spanish  ballad 
Haunts  me  oft,  and  tarries  long, 

Of  the  noble  Count  Arnaldos 
And  the  sailor's  mystic  song. 

Like  the  long  waves  on  a  sea-beach, 
Where  the  sand  as  silver  shines, 

With  a  soft,  monotonous  cadence, 
Flow  its  unrhymed  lyric  lines ;  — 

Telling  how  the  Count  Arnaldos, 
With  his  hawk  upon  his  hand, 

Saw  a  fair  and  stately  galley, 
Steering  onward  to  the  land  ;  — 

How  he  heard  the  ancient  helmsman 
Chant  a  song  so  wild  and  clear, 

That  the  sailing  sea-bird  slowly 
Poised  upon  the  mast  to  hear, 


THE  ADVENTURER  20$ 

Till  his  soul  was  full  of  longing,  25 

And  he  cried,  with  impulse  strong,  — 

"  Helmsman  !  for  the  love  of  heaven, 
Teach  me,  too,  that  wondrous  song  ! " 

"Wouldst  thou,"  —  so  the  helmsman  answered, 
"  Learn  the  secret  of  the  sea  ?  30 

Only  those  who  brave  its  dangers 
Comprehend  its  mystery  !  " 

In  each  sail  that  skims  the  horizon, 

In  each  landward-blowing  breeze, 
I  behold  that  stately  galley,  35 

Hear  those  mournful  melodies ; 

Till  my  soul  is  full  of  longing 

For  the  secret  of  the  sea, 
And  the  heart  of  the  great  ocean 

Sends  a  thrilling  pulse  through  me.  40 


THE  VOYAGE  OF  MAELDUNE 

(founded  on  an  irish  legend  a.d.  700) 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 

1 
I  was  the  chief  of  the  race  —  he  had  stricken  my  father 

dead  — 
But  I  gather'd  my  fellows  together,  I  swore  I  would  strike 

off  his  head. 
Each  of  them  look'd  like  a  king,  and  was  noble  in  birth  as 

in  worth, 
And  each  of  them  boasted  he  sprang  from  the  oldest  race 

upon  earth.  4 

i.  What  earlier  poem  in  the  book  has  the  same  metre  ? 


204 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


Each  was  as  brave  in  the  fight  as  the  bravest  hero  of  song, 
And  each  of  them  liefer  had   died   than  have  done   one 

another  a  wrong. 
He  lived  on  an  isle  in  the  ocean  —  we  sail'd  on  a  Friday 

morn  — 
He  that  had  slain  my  father  the  day  before  I  was  born. 

ii 

And  we  came  to  the  isle  in  the  ocean,  and  there  on  the 

shore  was  he. 
But  a  sudden  blast  blew  us  out  and  away  thro'  a  boundless 

sea.  10 

in 

And  we  came  to  the  Silent  Isle  that  we  never  had  touch'd 

at  before, 
Where  a  silent  ocean  always  broke  on  a  silent  shore, 
And  the  brooks  glitter'd  on  in  the  light  without  sound,  and 

the  long  waterfalls 
Pour'd  in  a  thunderless  plunge  to  the  base  of  the  mountain 

walls, 
And  the  poplar  and  cypress  unshaken  by  storm  flourish'd  up 

beyond  sight,  15 

And  the  pine  shot  aloft  from  the  crag  to  an  unbelievable 

height, 
And  high  in  the  heaven  above  it  there  flicker'd  a  songless 

lark, 
And  the  cock  couldn't  crow,  and  the  bull  couldn't  low,  and 

the  dog  couldn't  bark. 
And  round  it  we  went,  and  thro'  it,  but  never  a  murmur,  a 

breath  — 
It  was  all  of  it  fair  as  life,  it  was  all  of  it  quiet  as  death,      20 

8-10.  Why  is  this  stanza  so  short  ?       18.  Is  this  line  longer  than  its 
neighbors  ?     Note  the  medial  rhyme. 


THE  ADVENTURER 


205 


And  we  hated  the  beautiful  Isle,  for  whenever  we  strove  to 

speak 
Our  voices  were  thinner  and  fainter  than  any  flittermouse- 

shriek ; 
And  the  men  that  were  mighty  of  tongue  and  could  raise 

such  a  battle-cry 
That  a  hundred  who  heard  it  would  rush  on  a  thousand 

lances  and  die  — 
O  they  to  be  dumb'd  by  the  charm  !  —  so  fluster'd  with 

anger  were  they  25 

They  almost  fell  on  each  other ;  but  after  we  sail'd  away. 

IV 

And  we  came  to  the  Isle  of  Shouting,  we  landed,  a  score  of 

wild  birds 
Cried  from  the  topmost  summit  with  human  voices  and 

words ; 
Once  in  an  hour  they  cried,  and  whenever  their   voices 

peaPd 
The  steer  fell  down  at  the  plough  and  the  harvest  died 

from  the  field,  30 

And  the  men  dropt  dead  in  the  valleys  and  half  of  the  cattle 

went  lame, 
And  the  roof  sank  in  on  the  hearth,  and  the  dwelling  broke 

into  flame  ; 
And  the  shouting  of  these  wild  birds  ran  into  the  hearts  of 

my  crew, 
Till  they  shouted  along  with  the  shouting  and  seized  one 

another  and  slew ; 
But  I  drew  them  the  one  from  the  other ;    I  saw  that  we 

could  not  stay,  35 

And  we  left  the  dead  to  the  birds  and  we  sail'd  with  our 

wounded  away. 

22.  ftittermouse,  bat. 


2q6  STUDY   OF  LITERATURE 


And  we  came  to  the   Isle  of  Flowers :  their  breath  met  us 

out  on  the  seas, 
For  the  Spring  and  the  middle  Summer  sat  each  on  the  lap 

of  the  breeze ; 
And  the  red  passion-flower  to  the  cliffs,  and  the  dark-blue 

clematis  clung, 
And  starr'd  with  a  myriad  blossom  the  long  convolvulus 

hung;  40 

And  the  topmost  spire  of  the  mountain  was  lilies  in  lieu  of 

snow, 
And  the  lilies  like  glaciers  winded  down,  running  out  below 
Thro'  the  fire  of  the  tulip  and  poppy,  the  blaze  of  gorse,  and 

the  blush 
Of  millions  of  roses  that  sprang  without  leaf  or  a  thorn  from 

the  bush  ; 
And  the  whole  isle-side  flashing  down  from  the  peak  without 

ever  a  tree  45 

Swept  like  a  torrent  of  gems  from  the  sky  to  the  blue  of  the 

sea; 
And  we  roll'd  upon  capes  of  crocus  and  vaunted  our  kith 

and  our  kin, 
And  we  wallow'd  in  beds  of  lilies,  and  chanted  the  triumph 

of  Finn, 
Till  each  like  a  golden  image  was  pollen'd  from  head  to  feet 
And  each  was  as  dry  as  a  cricket,  with  thirst  in  the  middle- 
day  heat.  50 
Blossom  and  blossom,  and  promise  of  blossom,  but  never  a 

fruit  ! 
And  we  hated  the  Flowering  Isle,  as  we  hated  the  isle  that 

was  mute, 

38.  Note  the  accent  (the  correct  one  always)  of  clematis.     47.   The  one 
who  boasts  of  his  kin  is  like  a  promising  blossom  without  fruit. 


THE  ADVENTURER  20y 

And  we  tore  up  the  flowers  by  the  million  and  flung  them 

in  bight  and  bay, 
And  we  left  but  a  naked  rock,  and  in  anger  we  saiPd  away. 


VI 

And  we  came  to  the  Isle  of  Fruits  :  all  round  from  the  cliffs 

and  the  capes,  55 

Purple  or  amber,  dangled  a  hundred  fathom  of  grapes, 
And  the  warm  melon  lay  like  a  little  sun  on  the  tawny  sand, 
And  the  fig  ran  up  from  the  beach  and  rioted  over  the  land, 
And  the  mountain  arose   like  a  jewell'd  throne  thro'   the 

fragrant  air, 
Glowing  with  all-color'd  plums  and  with  golden  masses  of 

pear,  60 

And  the  crimson  and  scarlet  of  berries  that  flamed  upon 

bine  and  vine, 
But  in  every  berry  and  fruit  was  the  poisonous  pleasure  of  wine ; 
And  the  peak  of  the  mountain  was  apples,  the  hugest  that 

ever  were  seen, 
And  they  prest,  as  they  grew,  on  each  other,  with  hardly  a 

leaflet  between, 
And  all  of  them  redder  than  rosiest  health  or  than  utterest 

shame,  65 

And  setting,  when  Even  descended,  the  very  sunset  aflame ; 
And  we  stay'd  three  days,  and  we  gorged  and  we  madden'd, 

till  every  one  drew 
His  sword  on  his  fellow  to  slay  him,  and  ever  they  struck 

and  they  slew ; 
And  myself,   I    had   eaten   but  sparely,  and   fought   till  I 

sunder'd  the  fray, 
Then  I  bade  them  remember  my  father's  death,  and  we 

sail'd  away.  7° 

61.   bine,  slender  stem  of  a  plant. 


208  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

VII 

And  we  came  to  the  Isle  of  Fire  :  we  were  lured  by  the 

light  from  afar, 
For  the  peak  sent  up  one  league  of  fire  to  the  Northern 

Star; 
Lured  by  the  glare  and  the  blare,  but  scarcely  could  stand 

upright, 
For  the  whole  isle  shudder'd  and  shook  like  a  man  in  a 

mortal  affright ; 
We  were  giddy  besides  with  the  fruits  we  had  gorged,  and 

so  crazed  that  at  last  75 

There  were  some  leap'd  into  the  fire ;  and  away  we  sail'd, 

and  we  past 
Over  that  undersea  isle,  where  the  water  is  clearer  than  air : 
Down  we  look'd  :  what  a  garden  !     O  bliss,  what  a  Paradise 

there  ! 
Towers  of  a  happier  time,  low  down  in  a  rainbow  deep 
Silent  palaces,  quiet  fields  of  eternal  sleep  !  80 

And  three  of  the  gentlest  and  best  of  my  people,  whate'er 

I  could  say, 
Plunged  head  down  in  the  sea,  and  the  Paradise  trembled 

away. 

vra 

And  we  came  to  the  Bounteous  Isle,  where  the  heavens  lean 

low  on  the  land, 
And  ever  at  dawn  from  the  cloud  glitter'd  o'er  us  a  sunbright 

hand, 
Then  it  open'd  and  dropt  at  the  side  of  each  man,  as  he  rose 

from  his  rest,  85 

Bread  enough  for  his  need  till  the  laborless  day  dipt  under 

the  West ; 

77.   Poe's  City  in  the  Sea  and  Southey's  Curse  of  Kehama,  §  XVI,  fur- 
nish interesting  comparisons. 


THE  ADVENTURER 


209 


And  we  wander'd  about  it  and  thro'  it.     O  never  was  time 

so  good  ! 
And  we  sang  of  the  triumphs  of  Finn,  and  the  boast  of  our 

ancient  blood, 
And  we  gazed  at  the  wandering  wave  as  we  sat  by  the  gurgle 

of  springs, 
And  we  chanted  the  songs  of  the  Bards  and  the  glories  of 

fairy  kings  j  90 

But  at  length  we  began  to  be  weary,  to  sigh,  and  to  stretch 

and  yawn, 
Till  we  hated  the  Bounteous  Isle  and  the  sunbright  hand  of 

the  dawn, 
For  there  was  not  an  enemy  near,  but  the  whole  green  Isle 

was  our  own, 
And  we  took  to  playing  at  ball,  and  we  took  to  throwing  the 

stone, 
And  we  took  to  playing  at  battle,  but  that  was  a  perilous 

play,  95 

For  the  passion  of  battle  was  in  us,  we  slew  and  we  sail'd 

away. 

K 

And  we  past  to  the  Isle  of  Witches  and  heard  their  musical 

cry  — 
"  Come  to  us,  O  come,  come  "  in  the  stormy  red  of  a  sky 
Dashing  the  fires  and  the  shadows  of  dawn  on  the  beautiful 

shapes, 
For  a  wild  witch  naked  as  heaven  stood  on  each  of  the 

loftiest  capes,  100 

And  a  hundred  ranged  on  the  rock  like  white  sea-birds  in 

a  row, 
And  a  hundred  gambolPd  and  pranced  on  the  wrecks  in  the 

sand  below, 

94.  Anglo-Saxon  poets  habitually  called  battle  the  "  sword-play." 
P 


2IO  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

And  a  hundred  splash'd  from  the  ledges,  and  bosom'd  the 

burst  of  the  spray, 
But  I  knew  we  should  fall  on  each  other,  and  hastily  sail'd 

away. 

x 

And  we  came  in  an  evil  time  to  the  Isle  of  the  Double 

Towers,  105 

One  was  of  smooth-cut  stone,  one  carved  all  over  with 

flowers, 
But  an  earthquake  always  moved  in  the  hollows  under  the 

dells, 
And  they  shock'd  on  each  other  and  butted  each  other  with 

clashing  of  bells, 
And  the   daws   flew  out  of  the  Towers  and  jangled  and 

wrangled  in  vain, 
And  the  clash  and  boom  of  the  bells  rang  into  the  heart  and 

the  brain.  no 

Till  the  passion  of  battle  was  on  us,  and  all  took  sides  with 

the  Towers, 
There  were  some  for  the  clean-cut  stone,  there  were  more 

for  the  carven  flowers, 
And  the  wrathful  thunder  of  God  peal'd  over  us  all  the  day, 
For  the  one  half  slew  the  other,  and  after  we  sail'd  away. 

XI 

And  we  came  to  the  Isle  of  a  Saint  who  had  sail'd  with 

St.  Brendan  of  yore,  115 

He  had  lived  ever  since  on  the  Isle  and  his  winters  were 

fifteen  score, 
And  his  voice  was  low  as  from  other  worlds,  and  his  eyes 

were  sweet, 
And  his  white  hair  sank  to  his  heels  and  his  white  beard  fell 

to  his  feet, 


THE  ADVENTURER  2II 

And  he  spake  to  me,  "  0  Maeldune,  let  be  this  purpose  of 

thine  ! 
Remember  the  words  of  the  Lord  when  he  told  us  '  Ven- 
geance is  mine  ! '  120 
His  fathers  have  slain  thy  fathers  in  war  or  in  single  strife, 
Thy  fathers  have  slain  his  fathers,  each  taken  a  life  for  a  life, 
Thy  father  had  slain  his  father,  how  long  shall  the  murder 

last? 
Go  back  to  the  Isle  of  Finn  and  suffer  the  Past  to  be  Past." 
And  we  kiss'd  the  fringe  of  his  beard  and  we  pray'd  as  we 
heard  him  pray,  125 

And  the  Holy  man  he  assoil'd  us,  and  sadly  we  sail'd  away. 

XII 

And  we  came  to  the  Isle  we  were  blown  from,  and  there  on 

the  shore  was  he, 
The   man  that  had   slain  my  father.     I  saw  him  and  let 

him  be. 
O  weary  was .  I  of  the   travel,  the  trouble,  the  strife  and 

the  sin, 
When  I  landed  again,  with  a  tithe  of  my  men,  on  the  Isle 

of  Finn.  130 

Tennyson  is  remarkable  among  poets  for  the  number  of  beautiful  images 
he  can  suggest  in  a  line.  Take  the  sixth  stanza,  for  example,  and  read  it 
several  times,  trying  to  realize  all  it  conveys.  Could  any  painting  represent 
all  that  is  suggested  here  ? 

ULYSSES 
Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 

It  little  profits  that  an  idle  king, 
By  this  still  hearth,  among  these  barren  crags, 
Match'd  with  an  aged  wife,  I  mete  and  dole 
Unequal  laws  unto  a  savage  race, 

1.  What  is  the  metre  ?     What  previous  example  of  it  have  we  seen  ? 


212  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

That  hoard,  and  sleep,  and  feed,  and  know  not  me.    .         5 
I  cannot  rest  from  travel :  I  will  drink 
Life  to  the  lees  :  all  times  I  have  enjoy'd 
Greatly,  have  suffer'd  greatly,  both  with  those 
That  lov'd  me,  and  alone  ;  on  shore,  and  when 
Thro'  scudding  drifts  the  rainy  Hyades  10 

Vex'd  the  dim  sea.     I  am  become  a  name ; 
For  always  roaming  with  a  hungry  heart 
Much  have  I  seen  and  known  :  cities  of  men 
And  manners,  climates,  councils,  governments, 
Myself  not  least,  but  honor'd  of  them  all ;  15 

And  drunk  delight  of  battle  with  my  peers, 
Far  on  the  ringing  plains  of  windy  Troy. 
I  am  a  part  of  all  that  I  have  met ; 
Yet  all  experience  is  an  arch  wherethro' 
Gleams  that  untravell'd  world,  whose  margin  fades  20 

For  ever  and  for  ever  when  I  move. 
How  dull  it  is  to  pause,  to  make  an  end, 
To  rust  unburnish'd,  not  to  shine  in  use  ! 
As  tho'  to  breathe  were  life.     Life  pil'd  on  life 
Were  all  too  little,  and  of  one  to  me  25 

Little  remains  :  but  every  hour  is  sav'd 
From  that  eternal  silence,  something  more, 
A  bringer  of  new  things ;  and  vile  it  were 
For  some  three  suns  to  store  and  hoard  myself, 
And  this  gray  spirit  yearning  in  desire  30 

To  follow  knowledge  like  a  sinking  star, 
Beyond  the  utmost  bound  of  human  thought. 
This  is  my  son,  mine  own  Telemachus, 

10.  The  Hyades  are  a  constellation  of  seven  stars.  When  they  rose  with 
the  sun  they  were  thought  by  the  ancients  to  denote  the  approach  of 
rain.  11.  /  am  become  a  name,  that  is,  have  become  famous.  29.  suns 
here  means  yearly  revolutions  of  the  sun.  30.  Note  the  compression  of  the 
phrase  gray  spirit,  —  transfer  of  gray  from  gray  head  to  spirit.  An  adjective 
so  applied  is  called  a  trans/erred  epithet. 


THE   ADVENTURER 


213 


To  whom  I  leave  the  sceptre  and  the  isle  — 
Well-lov'd  of  me,  discerning  to  fulfil  35 

This  labor,  by  slow  prudence  to  make  mild 
A  rugged  people,  and  thro'  soft  degrees 
Subdue  them  to  the  useful  and  the  good. 
Most  blameless  is  he,  centred  in  the  sphere 
Of  common  duties,  decent  not  to  fail  40 

In  offices  of  tenderness,  and  pay 
Meet  adoration  to  my  household  gods, 
When  I  am  gone.     He  works  his  work,  I  mine. 
There  lies  the  port ;  the  vessel  puffs  her  sail : 
There  gloom  the  dark  broad  seas.     My  mariners,  45 

Souls  that  have  toil'd,  and  wrought,  and  thought  with  me  — 
That  ever  with  a  frolic  welcome  took 
The  thunder  and  the  sunshine,  and  oppos'd 
Free  hearts,  free  foreheads  —  you  and  I  are  old ; 
Old  age  hath  yet  his  honor  and  his  toil ;  50 

Death  closes  all ;  but  something  ere  the  end, 
Some  work  of  noble  note,  may  yet  be  done, 
Not  unbecoming  men  that  strove  with  Gods. 
The  lights  begin  to  twinkle  from  the  rocks  : 
The  long  day  wanes  :  the  slow  moon  climbs  :  the  deep       55 
Moans  round  with  many  voices.     Come,  my  friends, 
Tis  not  too  late  to  seek  a  newer  world. 
Push  off,  and  sitting  well  in  order  smite 
The  sounding  furrows  ;  for  my  purpose  holds 
To  sail  beyond  the  sunset,  and  the  baths  60 

Of  all  the  western  stars,  until  I  die. 
It  may  be  that  the  gulfs  will  wash  us  down : 
It  may  be  we  shall  touch  the  Happy  Isles, 
And  see  the  great  Achilles,  whom  we  knew. 
Tho'  much  is  taken,  much  abides  ;  and  tho'  65 

45.  Note  the  compression  of  gloom  ;  a  noun  is  made  into  a  verb  and 
does  the  work  of  a  long  phrase. 


214 


STUDY   OF  LITERATURE 


We  are  not  now  that  strength  which  in  old  days 

Mov'd  earth  and  heaven,  that  which  we  are,  we  are  : 

One  equal  temper  of  heroic  hearts, 

Made  weak  by  time  and  fate,  but  strong  in  will 

To  strive,  to  seek,  to  find,  and  not  to  yield.  70 

This  stately  and  inspiriting  poem  is  somewhat  in  the  Greek  spirit;  it 
sounds  like  Homer,  though  less  simple  than  Homer.  Lines  43-70  are  emi- 
nently worth  learning  by  heart. 

Is  the  poem  lyrical,  expressing  a  personal  mood  of  the  author,  or  narra- 
tive ?  or  is  it  a  dramatic  monologue  ? 


A  MEETING   IN  THE   HEART  OF  AFRICA 
Henry  Morton  Stanley 

We  push  on  rapidly,  lest  the  news  of  our  coming  might 
reach  the  people  of  Bunder  Ujiji  before  we  come  in  sight 
and  are  ready  for  them.  We  halt  at  a  little  brook,  then 
ascend  the  long  slope  of  a  naked  ridge,  the  very  last  of 
the  myriads  we  have  crossed.  This  alone  prevents  us  5 
from  seeing  the  lake  in  all  its  vastness.  We  arrive  at  the 
summit,  travel  across  and  arrive  at  its  western  rim,  and  — 
pause,  reader  —  the  port  of  Ujiji  is  below  us,  embowered 
in  the  palms,  only  five  hundred  yards  from  us  !  At  this 
grand  moment  we  do  not  think  of  the  five  hundred  miles  10 
we  have  marched,  of  the  hundreds  of  hills  that  we  have 
ascended  and  descended,  of  the  many  forests  we  have 
traversed,  of  the  jungles  and  thickets  that  annoyed  us, 
of  the  fervid  salt  plains  that  blistered  our  feet,  of  the  hot 
suns  that  scorched  us,  nor  the  dangers  and  difficulties,  15 
now  happily  surmounted.  At  last  the  sublime  hour  has 
arrived  !  our  dreams,  our  hopes  and  anticipations,  are 
about  to  be  realized  !  Our  hearts  and  feelings  are  with 
our  eyes  as  we  peer  into  the  palms  and  try  to  make  out  in 


THE  ADVENTURER 


215 


which  hut  or  house  lives  the  white  man  with  the  gray  20 
beard  we  heard  about  on  the  Malagarazi. 

"  Unfurl  the  flags,  and  load  your  guns  !  " 

"  Ay  Wallah,  ay  Wallah,  bana  ! "  respond  the  men, 
eagerly. 

"One,  two,  three,  fire  !  "  25 

A  volley  from  nearly  fifty  guns  roars  like  a  salute  from 
a  battery  of  artillery  j  we  shall  note  its  effect  presently 
on  the  peaceful-looking  village  below. 

"  Now,  kirangozi,  hold  the  white  man's  flag  up  high, 
and  let  the  Zanzibar  flag  bring  up  the  rear.  And  you  30 
men  keep  close  together,  and  keep  firing  until  we  halt  in 
the  market-place,  or  before  the  white  man's  house.  You 
have'  said  to  me  often  that  you  could  smell  the  fish  of  the 
Tanganika.  I  can  smell  the  fish  of  the  Tanganika  now. 
There  are  fish,  and  beer,  and  a  long  rest  waiting  for  you.  35 
March  ! " 

Before  we  had  gone  a  hundred  yards  our  repeated 
volleys  had  the  effect  desired.     We  had  awakened  Ujiji 
to  the  knowledge  that  a  caravan  was  coming,  and  the 
people  were  witnessed  rushing  up  in  hundreds  to  meet  40 
us.     The   mere   sight  of  the  flags  informed  every  one 
immediately  that  we  were  a  caravan,  but  the  American 
flag,  borne  aloft  by  the  gigantic  Asmani,  whose  face  was 
one  vast  smile  on  this  day,  rather  staggered  them  at  first. 
However,  many  of  the  people  who  now  approached  us4S 
remembered  the  flag.     They  had  seen  it  float  above  the 
American  Consulate,  and  from  the  masthead  of  many  a 
ship  in  the  harbor  of  Zanzibar,  and  they  were  soon  heard 
welcoming   the   beautiful    flag   with   cries   of  "  Bindera 
kisungu  !  "  —  a  white  man's  flag  !     "  Bindera  Merikani !  "  50 
—  the  American  flag  ! 

Then  we  were  surrounded  by  them  —  by  Wajiji,  Wan- 
yamwezi,  Wangwana,  Warundi,  Waguhha,  Wamanyuema, 


2l6  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

and  Arabs  —  and  were  almost  deafened  with  the  shouts 
of  "  Yambo,   yambo,   bana  !     Yambo,    bana !      Yambo,  55 
bana  !"     To  all  and  each  of  my  men  the  welcome  was 
given. 

We  were  now  about  three  hundred  yards  from  the 
village  of  Ujiji,  and  the  crowds  are  dense  about  me. 
Suddenly  I  hear  a  voice  on  my  right  say :  —  60 

"  Good  morning,  sir  !  " 

Startled  at  hearing  this  greeting  in  the  midst  of  such  a 
crowd  of  black  people,  I  turn  sharply  around  in  search 
of  the  man,  and  see  him  at  my  side,  with  the  blackest  of 
faces,  but  animated  and  joyous  —  a  man  dressed  in  a  long  65 
white  shirt,  with  a  turban  of  American  sheeting  around 
his  woolly  head,  and  I  ask :  — 

"  Who  the  mischief  are  you  ?  " 

"I  am  Susi,  the  servant  of  Dr.  Livingstone,"  said  he, 
smiling,  and  showing  a  gleaming  row  of  teeth.  70 

"What !     Is  Dr.  Livingstone  here?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  In  this  village  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  75 

"  Sure,  sure,  sir.     Why,  I  leave  him  just  now." 

"Good  morning,  sir,"  said  another  voice. 

"  Hallo,"  said  I,  "is  this  another  one?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  what  is  your  name? "  80 

"  My  name  is  Chumah,  sir." 

"What !  are  you  Chumah,  the  friend  of  Wekotani?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"And  is  the  Doctor  well?  " 

"  Not  very  well,  sir."  85 

"  Where  has  he  been  so  long?" 

"  In  Manyuema." 


THE  ADVENTURER  2lJ 

"  Now,  you  Susi,  run,  and  tell  the  Doctor  I  am  coming." 

"Yes,  sir,"  and  off  he  darted  like  a  madman. 

By  this  time  we  were  within  two  hundred  yards  of  the  90 
village,  and  the  multitude  was  getting  denser,  and  almost 
preventing  our  march.  Flags  and  streamers  were  out; 
Arabs  and  Wangwana  were  pushing  their  way  through  the 
natives  in  order  to  greet  us,  for,  according  to  their 
account,  we  belonged  to  them.  But  the  great  wonder  of  95 
all  was,  "  How  did  you  come  from  Unyanyembe  ?  " 

Soon  Susi  came  running  back,  and  asked  me  my  name ; 
he  had  told  the  Doctor  that  I  was  coming,  but  the  Doctor 
was  too  surprised  to  believe  him,  and,  when  the  Doctor 
asked  him  my  name,  Susi  was  rather  staggered.  100 

But,  during  Susi's  absence,  the  news  had  been  con- 
veyed to  the  Doctor  that  it  was  surely  a  white  man  that 
was  coming,  whose  guns  were  firing  and  whose  flag  could 
be  seen ;  and  the  great  Arab  magnates  of  Ujiji  —  Moham- 
med bin  Sali,  Sayd  bin  Majid,  Abid  bin  Suliman,  Moham- 105 
med  bin  Gharib,  and  others  —  had  gathered  together 
before  the  Doctor's  house,  and  the  Doctor  had  come  out 
from  his  veranda  to  discuss  the  matter  and  await  my 
arrival. 

In  the  meantime  the  head  of  the  expedition  had  halted,  no 
and  the  kirangozi  was  out  of  the  ranks,  holding  his  flag 
aloft,  and  Selim  said  to  me  :  "  I  see  the  Doctor,  sir.     Oh, 
what  an  old  man  !     He  has  got  a  white  beard."     And  I 
—  what  would  I  not  have  given  for  a  bit  of  friendly  wil- 
derness, where,  unseen,  I  might  vent  my  joy  in  some  115 
mad  freak,  such  as  idiotically  biting  my  hand,  turning  a 
somersault,  or  slashing  at  trees,  in  order  to  allay  those 
exciting  feelings  that  were  well-nigh  uncontrollable.     My 
heart  beats  fast,  but  I  must  not  let  my  face  betray  my 
emotions,  lest  it  shall  detract  from  the  dignity  of  a  white  120 
man  appearing  under  such  extraordinary  circumstances. 


2i8  STUDY   OF  LITERATURE 

So  I  did  that  which  I  thought  was  most  dignified.  I 
pushed  back  the  crowds,  and,  passing  from  the  rear, 
walked  down  a  living  avenue  of  people,  until  I  came  in 
front  of  the  semicircle  of  Arabs,  in  the  front  of  which  125 
stood  the  white  man  with  the  gray  beard.  As  I  advanced 
slowly  toward  him  I  noticed  he  was  pale,  looked  wearied, 
had  a  gray  beard,  wore  a  bluish  cap  with  a  faded  gold 
band  round  it,  had  on  a  red-sleeved  waistcoat,  and  a  pair 
of  gray  tweed  trousers.  I  would  have  run  to  him,  only  1 130 
was  a  coward  in  the  presence  of  such  a  mob  ;  would  have 
embraced  him,  only,  he  being  an  Englishman,  I  did  not 
know  how  he  would  receive  me  ;  so  I  did  what  cowardice 
and  false  pride  suggested  was  the  best  thing;  walked 
deliberately  to  him,  took  off  my  hat,  and  said  :  —  i35 

"  Dr.  Livingstone,  I  presume?" 

"Yes,"  said  he,   with  a  kind   smile,   lifting   his   cap 
slightly. 

I  replace  my  hat  on  my  head,  and  he  puts  on  his  cap, 
and  we  both  grasp  hands,  and  I  then  say  aloud  :  —  i4o 

"  I  thank  God,  Doctor,  I  have  been  permitted  to  see 
you." 

He  answered :    "  I  feel  thankful  that  I  am  here  to 
welcome  you." 

I  turn  to  the  Arabs,  take  off  my  hat  to  them  in  response  145 
to  the  saluting  of  "  Yambos  "  I  receive,  and  the  Doctor 
introduces  them  to  me  by  name.  Then,  oblivious  of 
the  crowds,  oblivious  of  the  men  who  shared  with  me  my 
dangers,  we  —  Livingstone  and  I — turn  our  faces  toward 
his  tembe.  He  points  to  the  veranda,  or,  rather,  mud  150 
platform,  under  the  broad  overhanging  eaves ;  he  points 
to  his  own  particular  seat,  which  I  see  his  age  and  expe- 
rience in  Africa  have  suggested,  namely,  a  straw  mat  with 
a  goatskin  over  it,  and.  another  skin  nailed  against  the 
wall  to  protect  his  back  from  contact  with  the  cold  mud.  155 


THE  ADVENTURER 


219 


I  protest  against  taking  this  seat,  which  so  much  more 
befits  him  than  me,  but  the  Doctor  will  not  yield ;  I  must 
take  it. 

We  are  seated  —  the  Doctor  and  I  —  with  our  backs  to 
the  wall.  The  Arabs  take  seats  on  our  left.  More  than  a  160 
thousand  natives  are  in  our  front,  filling  the  whole  square 
densely,  indulging  their  curiosity,  and  discussing  the  fact 
of  two  white  men  meeting  at  Ujiji  —  one  just  come  from 
Manyuema,  in  the  west,  the  other  from  Unyanyembe,  in 
the  east.  165 

Conversation  began.  What  about?  I  declare  I  have 
forgotten.  Oh  !  we  simultaneously  asked  questions  of 
one  another,  such  as  "  How  did  you  come  here  ?  "  and 
"  Where  have  you  been  all  this  long  time  ?  The  world 
has  believed  you  to  be  dead."  Yes,  that  was  the  way  it  170 
began ;  but  whatever  the  Doctor  informed  me,  and  that 
which  I  communicated  to  him,  I  cannot  correctly  report, 
for  I  found  myself  gazing  at  him,  conning  the  wonderful 
man  at  whose  side  I  now  sat  in  Central  Africa.  Every 
hair  of  his  head  and  beard,  every  wrinkle  of  his  face,  the  175 
wanness  of  his  features,  and  the  slightly  wearied  look  he 
wore,  were  all  imparting  intelligence  to  me ;  the  knowl- 
edge I  craved  for  so  much  ever  since  I  heard  the  words, 
"Take  what  you  want,  but  find  Livingstone."  What  I 
saw  was  deeply  interesting  intelligence  to  me,  and  unvar- 180 
nished  truth.  I  was  listening  and  reading  at  the  same 
time.     What  did  these  dumb  witnesses  relate  to  me? 

Oh,  reader,  had  you  been  at  my  side  on  this  day  in 
Ujiji,  how  eloquently  could  be  told  the  nature  of  this 
man's  work  !  Had  you  been  there  but  to  see  and  hear  !  185 
His  lips  gave  me  the  details  ;  lips  that  never  lie.  I  can- 
not repeat  what  he  said ;  I  was  too  much  engrossed  to 
take  my  note-book  out  and  begin  to  stenograph  his  story. 
He  had  so  much  to  say  that  he  began  at  the  end,  seem- 


220  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

ingly  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  five  or  six  years  had  to  be  190 
accounted  for.     But  his  account  was  oozing  out ;  it  was 
growing  fast  into  grand  proportions,  into  a  most  marvel- 
lous history  of  deeds. 

The  Arabs  rose  up,  with  a  delicacy  I  approved,  as  if 
they  intuitively  knew  that  we  ought  to  be  left  to  our- 195 
selves.  I  sent  Bombay  with  them,  to  give  them  the  news 
they  also  wanted  so  much  to  know  about  the  affairs  at 
Unyanyembe.  Sayd  bin  Majid  was  the  father  of  the 
gallant  young  man  whom  I  saw  at  Masange,  and  who 
fought  with  me  at  Zimbizo,  and  who  soon  afterward  was  200 
killed  by  Mirambo's  Ruga- Ruga  in  the  forest  of  Wilyan- 
kuru ;  and,  knowing  that  I  had  been  there,  he  earnestly 
desired  to  hear  the  tale  of  the  fight;  but  they  had  all 
friends  at  Unyanyembe,  and  it  was  but  natural  that  they 
should  be  anxious  to  hear  of  what  concerned  them.  205 

After  giving  orders  to  Bombay  and  Asmani  for  the 
provisioning  of  the  men  of  the  expedition,  I  called 
"  Kaif-Halek,"  or  "  How-do-ye-do,"  and  introduced  him 
to  Dr.  Livingstone  as  one  of  the  soldiers  in  charge  of 
certain  goods  left  at  Unyanyembe,  whom  I  had  com-  210 
pelled  to  accompany  me  to  Ujiji,  that  he  might  deliver  in 
person  to  his  master  the  letter-bag  he  had  been  intrusted 
with  by  Dr.  Kirk.  This  was  that  famous  letter- bag 
marked  "Nov.  1st,  1870,"  which  was  now  delivered 
into  the  Doctor's  hands  365  days  after  it  left  Zanzi-  215 
bar !  How  long,  I  wonder,  had  it  remained  at  Unyan- 
yembe had  I  not  been  despatched  into  Central  Africa  in 
search  of  the  great  traveller  ! 

The  Doctor  kept  the  letter-bag  on  his  knee,  then  pres- 
ently opened  it,  looked  at  the  letters  contained  there,  and  220 
read  one  or  two  of  his  children's  letters,  his  face,  in  the 
meanwhile,  lighting  up. 

He  asked  me  to  tell  him  the  news.     "No,  Doctor," 


THE  ADVENTURER  221 

said  I ;  "  read  your  letters  first,  which  I  am  sure  you  must 
be  impatient  to  read."  225 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  "  I  have  waited  years  for  letters,  and 
I  have  been  taught  patience.  I  can  surely  afford  to  wait 
a  few  hours  longer.  No,  tell  me  the  general  news ;  how 
is  the  world  getting  along?" 

"You  probably  know  much   already.      Do  you  know 230 
that  the  Suez  canal  is  a  fact  —  is  opened,  and  a  regular 
trade  carried  on  between  Europe  and  India  through  it?" 

"  I  did  not  hear  about  the  opening  of  it.  Well,  that  is 
grand  news  !     What  else?  " 

Shortly  I  found  myself  enacting  the  part  of  an  annual  235 
periodical  to  him.     There  was  no  need  of  exaggeration  — 
of  any  penny-a-line  news,  or  of  any  sensationalism.     The 
world  had  witnessed  and  experienced  much  the  last  few 
years.    The  Pacific  Railroad  had  been  completed  ;  Grant 
had  been  elected  President  of  the  United  States ;  Egypt  240 
had  been  flooded  with  savans ;  the  Cretan  rebellion  had 
terminated  ;  a  Spanish  revolution  had  driven  Isabella  from 
the  throne  of  Spain,  and  a  regent  had  been  appointed ; 
General  Prim  was  assassinated ;  a  Castelar  had  electrified 
Europe  with   his   advanced   ideas   upon  the  liberty  of  245 
worship;    Prussia  had  humbled   Denmark  and  annexed 
Schleswig-Holstein,   and   her   armies  were   now  around 
Paris;    the  "Man  of  Destiny"  was   a  prisoner  at  Wil- 
helmshohe ;  the  Queen  of  Fashion  and  the  Empress  of 
the   French  was  a  fugitive ;   and  the  child   born  in  the  250 
purple  had  lost  forever  the  imperial  crown  intended  for 
his  head ;  the  Napoleon  dynasty  was  extinguished  by  the 
Prussians,  Bismarck  and  Von  Moltke ;   and  France,  the 
proud  empire,  was  humbled  to  the  dust. 

What  could  a  man  have  exaggerated  of  these  facts? 255 
What  a  budget  of  news  it  was  to  one  who  had  emerged 
from  the  depths  of  the  primeval  forests  of  Manyuema  ! 


222  STUDY   OF  LITERATURE 

The  reflection  of  the  dazzling  light  of  civilization  was  cast 
on  him  while  Livingstone  was  thus  listening  in  wonder  to 
one  of  the  most  exciting  pages  of  history  ever  repeated.  260 
How  the  puny  deeds  of  barbarism  paled  before  these  ! 
Who  could  tell  under  what  new  phases  of  uneasy  life 
Europe  was  laboring  even  then,  while  we,  two  of  her 
lonely  children,  rehearsed  the  tale  of  her  late  woes  and 
glories  ?  More  worthily,  perhaps,  had  the  tongue  of  a  265 
lyric  Demodocus  recounted  them;  but,  in  the  absence 
of  the  poet,  the  newspaper  correspondent  performed  his 
part  as  well  and  truthfully  as  he  could. 

Not  long  after  the  Arabs  had  departed,  a  dishful  of 
hot  hashed-meat  cakes  was  sent  to  us  by  Sayd  bin  Majid,  270 
and  a  curried  chicken  was  received  from  Mohammed  bin 
Sali,  and  Moeni  Kheri  sent  a  dishful  of  stewed  goat-meat 
and  rice ;  and  thus  presents  of  food  came  in  succession, 
and  as  fast  as  they  were  brought  we  set  to.     I  had  a 
healthy,  stubborn  digestion.     The  exercise  I  had  taken  275 
had  put  it  in  prime  order;    but  Livingstone  —  he  had 
been   complaining   that   he    had   no   appetite,    that   his 
stomach  refused  everything  but  a  cup  of  tea  now  and 
then  —  he  ate  also,  ate  like  a  vigorous,  hungry  man  ;  and, 
as  he  vied  with  me  in  demolishing  the  pancakes,  he  kept  280 
repeating,  "  You  have  brought  me  new  life ;   you  have 
brought  me  new  life." 

"  Oh,  by  George  ! "  I  said  ;  "  I  have  forgotten  some- 
thing. Hasten,  Selim,  and  bring  that  bottle ;  you  know 
which.  And  bring  me  the  silver  goblets.  I  brought  285 
this  bottle  on  purpose  for  this  event,  which  I  hoped 
would  come  to  pass,  though  often  it  seemed  useless  to 
expect  it." 

Selim  knew  where  the  bottle  was,  and  he  soon  returned 

266.   Demodocus,  a  famous  minstrel  mentioned  in  Homer's  Odyssey. 


THE  ADVENTURER 


223 


with  it  —  a  bottle  of  Sillery  champagne;    and,  handing 290 
the   Doctor  a  silver  goblet  brimful  of  the   exhilarating 
wine,  and   pouring   a   small    quantity  into   my   own,   I 
said  :  — 

"  Dr.  Livingstone,  to  your  very  good  health,  sir." 
"And  to  yours,"  he  responded.  295 

And  the  champagne  I  had  treasured  for  this  happy 
meeting  was  drunk  with  hearty  good  wishes  to  each  other. 


Plan  of  Summary.  —  Reviewing  the  chapter,  (1)  enumerate  the 
kinds  of  metre,  designating  them  by  the  number  of  accents,  and  by  the 
predominant  foot.  Then  (2)  say  which  poem  is  most  noticeable  for  mel- 
ody; (3)  which  for  beauty  of  suggested  sights;  (4)  which  for  pleasure 
of  suggested  sounds;  (5)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  activity; 
(6)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  odors  or  tastes;  (7)  which  is 
most  easily  understood;  (8)  which  moves  the  reader  most  deeply; 
(9)  which  shows  most  skill  in  character  drawing;  (10)  which  has  the 
best  unity;  (11)  which,  your  critical  judgment  tells  you,  is  the  best 
piece  of  work;  (12)  which  you  like  the  best,  —  without  regard  to  its 
deserved  rank,  or  its  fame. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   HEARTH 

The  instinct  to  get  away  from  apron-strings  is  very  active 
in  strong  young  natures.  If  it  were  not,  there  would  never 
be  any  men,  but  only  grown-up  infants.  The  instinct 
spends  itself  in  adventure,  pioneering,  making  one's  way 
in  the  world,  and  ends  by  producing  a  self-reliant  head  of 
a  new  household.  The  young  man  who  learns  to  take  care 
of  himself  is  he  who  comes  to  care  most  for  his  old  home. 
A  really  appreciative  affection  for  one's  parents  is  a  sign  of 
manhood,  because  only  the  grown  man  can  appreciate  his 
parents.  Charles  Kingsley  seems  to  suggest  this  fact  in  The 
The  "  Old,  "Old,  Old  Song."  At  all  events,  when  Kingsley  prays  that  the 
Old  Song,  wq^  ja(^  after  creepmg  home  spent  and  maimed,  may  find 
one  face  there  he  loved  when  all  was  young,  what  face  would 
he  so  probably  have  in  mind  as  that  of  the  mother? 

In  war-time  some  parents  are  foolish  enough  to  oppose 

a  strong,  healthy  son  in  his  wish  to  leave  home  and  serve 

his  country.     Sons  are  sometimes  inconsiderate  enough  to 

abandon  parents  who  can  ill  spare  them,  and  go  to  war  for 

the  sake  of  adventure  and  glory.     If,  in  any  case  of  running 

away  to  the  war,  the  youth  be  killed,  the  satisfaction  of 

Driving        having  said  good-bye  is  then  denied  the  survivors.     If  he 

Cows6  *  C     Sets  ba°k  home,  in  spite  of  false  rumors  that  he  is  among 

p.  230.  the  missing,  the  situation  is  somewhat  better,  as  in  Mrs. 

Osgood's  poem. 

But  an  honest  good-bye  and  an  honest  return  make  the 
best  case  of  all.  The  boy  whose  going  causes  honest  tears 
and  whose  coming  causes  honest  joy  will  not  miss  his  wel- 

224 


THE  HEARTH 


225 


come  when  he  is  the  head  of  a  house.     His  homecoming 

will  be,  to  him  and  his,  one  of  the  few  great  pleasures  that 

our  checkered  life  has  to  give.     Many  a  king  never  knows  There's 

what  such  a  poem  as  There's  Nae  Luck  about  the  House   Nae  Luck» 

.  P»  232- 

means  to  the  nation  that  produces  it. 

Few  subjects  have  appealed  to  the  poets  more  than  the 
mother's  love  for  the  child.     Some  of  the  greatest  lyrics  in 
literature  picture  the  tragic  grief  of  the  mother  over  her 
child.     Tennyson's  Rizpah  is  such  a  masterpiece,  revealing 
the  heart  of  an  old  woman  who  goes  by  night  to  collect, 
from  the  ground  beneath  a  gibbet,  the  bones  of  her  luckless 
son.     Two  poems  in  the  present  chapter  exhibit  this  pas- 
sionate motherly  love  for  the  dead  child.     One  is  by  Barnes  Mary- 
of  Dorsetshire,  —  William  Barnes,  who  wrote  in  the  Dorset-   Ann's 
shire  dialect.     The  peasant  woman,  "  Meary-Ann,"  is  alone  p  234' 
with  her  babe,  in  her  house  with  the  trees  overhead.    There 
is  a  storm  outside.     In  the   evening  she  notices  that  the 
child  is  not  well.     He  grows  worse  with  the  advancing  night, 
and  she  clasps  him  to  her  bosom.     His  struggles  grow  weak, 
and  his  cries  die  away.     By  a  gleam  of  the  moon  she  sees 
that  his  face  is  white  as  ashes.     The  other  poem,  Sydney  How-s  my 
Dobell's  How's  my  Boy  ?  is  a  short  dramatic  dialogue,  almost   Boy  ? 
a  monologue.     The  mother  is  asking  for  news  of  her  sailor  p'  ^  ' 
boy.      The  sailor  stares  at  her,  and  in  her  vexation  she 
declares  that  she  might  as  well  have  asked  some  landsman. 
Finally  he  tells  her  that  her  boy's  ship  has  gone   down. 
"  What  cares  she  for  the  ship  ?    How  is  her  boy  ?  "    "  Every 
man  on  the  ship  went  down."    Even  then  she  will  not  listen 
to  the  awful  news,  but  cries,  "What  care  I  for  the  men, 
sailor?     How's  my  boy  —  my  boy?  " 

In  Matthew  Arnold's  beautiful  little  myth,  The  Forsaken  The  For_ 
Merman,  there  is  a  mother  of  most  unmotherly  heart.     The   saken  Mer- 
poet  imagines  a  merman,  a  sea  king,  who  has  won  a  mortal   man' p" 23  ' 
maiden  for  his  bride.     By  some  magic,  Margaret  is  enabled 
Q 


226  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

to  live  in  the  deep  sea-caves.  But  by  and  by  she  grows 
anxious  for  her  soul.  It  is  Easter-time  in  the  world,  and 
she  says  she  must  go  and  pray  in  the  little  gray  church  on 
the  shore.  The  merman  lovingly  bids  her  farewell  for  the 
time.  Margaret  departs,  and  does  not  return.  Her  hus- 
band and  her  little  ones  wait  for  her  in  vain.  Then  they 
steal  up  and  gaze  at  her  through  the  window  of  the  church. 
He  whispers  to  her,  and  the  little  ones  call  to  her,  but  she 
gives  them  no  look.  They  return  with  sad  hearts  to  their 
pearly  caves ;  but  the  father  promises  the  children  that  they 
shall  go  again  by  night  and  gaze  on  the  white,  sleeping 
town. 

In  Arnold's  Merman  it  is  really  the  father's  love  that 
charms  us.  Poetry  is  full  of  that,  too.  From  the  terrible 
warrior  Hector  playing  with  his  babe  Astyanax,  beautiful 
as  a  star,  to  the  serene  thinker  Emerson,  voicing  in  his 
Threnody  his  anguish  for  the  star-eyed  boy  whom  he  lost, 
there  is  something  about  a  father's  love  that  ennobles  its 
possessor.  King  David  was  never  so  kingly  as  in  his  grief 
over  Absalom.  Longfellow's  The  Chamber  over  the  Gate 
is  the  modern  version  of  that  story,  though  nothing  can 
match  the  pathos  of  the  account  in  Samuel,  translated  into 
the  short,  simple  words  of  our  mother  tongue. 

Coventry  Patmore  wrote  a  poem  in  which  a  father  grieves 
at  his  own  harshness  to  his  child.  Mr.  James  Whitcomb 
Riley  has  a  few  heart-breaking  lines  on  a  similar  subject. 
The  parent  cannot  forget  his  cross  rebuke  of  the  baby,  now 
dead,  who  came  rowdying  up  to  interrupt  her  busy  father. 

Dante  tells  of  a  Florentine,  Ugolino,  whose  enemy  starved 
him  and  his  sons  in  a  tower.  When  the  poet  met  him  in 
the  lower  world,  Ugolino  told  the  story  of  the  boys'  death 
in  this  hunger-tower.  "  I  did  not  suffer  ;  I  grew  as  hard  as 
stone.  It  was  they  who  suffered."  Ugolino's  depth  of  grief 
and  his  hatred  for  his  tormentor  made  him  tearless.     But 


THE  HEARTH 


227 


there  may  be  tearless  grief  without  hate.  Symonds,1  the 
heroic  man  of  letters  who  banished  himself  to  the  higher 
Alps  in  order  to  live,  just  as  Stevenson  banished  himself  to 
Samoa,  has  a  poem  of  how  a  father's  love  may  control  a 
father's  grief.  Again  the  story  is  of  an  Italian.  The  artist  An  Epi- 
Luca  Signorelli  belonged  to  the  great  painters  that  made  sode' 
Italy  in  the  fifteenth  century  a  new  Athens.  Friends 
brought  home  the  painter's  son  dead,  a  youth  of  seventeen. 
Luca  did  not  weep.  He  would  do  the  boy  one  last  honor, 
and  make  for  himself  and  the  world  one  sad  but  enduring 
pleasure.  He  seized  his  brush,  and  began  to  paint  the  lad's 
picture.  All  day  long  he  worked,  and  at  eve  they  found 
him  still  painting  with  unerring  handstroke.  He  was  firm 
and  dry- eyed. 

Neither  in  Ugolino's  case  nor  in  Luca's  was  there  any 
chance  for  self-sacrifice  on  the  part  of  the  parent.     Ugolino 
would  have  grasped  eagerly  any  chance  of  starving  to  save 
his  children  from  this  fate.     That  was  what  the  father  of    The  Selling 
little  Rhodope  did,  with  a  willingness  so  quiet  that  his  child   of  Rho~ 
did  not  suspect.     Landor  tells  this  story  in  prose  which  has  p.  2^. 
never  been  surpassed  for  beauty. 

Some  such  simplicity  as  Ugolino's,  the  simplicity  which 
arises  when  a  mourner  can  utter  but  few  words,  and  must 
let  these  stand  for  all  the  unspoken  anguish,  appears  in 
Kingsley's  The  Merry  Lark.  Like  the  other  two  songs  by  Tne  Merry 
the  same  author  (pp.  125,  229),  this  one  is  very  sad,  but  it  is  Lark. 
perhaps  more  beautiful  than  either.  Some  father  or  mother 
is  speaking  of  a  great  loss.  The  lark  was  merry,  the  hare 
was  feeding  in  the  field,  the  bells  were  ringing  to  the  laughter 
of  the  child.  Now  the  hare  is  killed,  the  lark  has  gone,  the 
bells  are  silent,  the  baby  lies  in  its  cradle  in  the  churchyard 
till  the  bells  shall  bring  the  parent  there  too. 

Time  cannot  change  the  parent's  love.     Even  the  sin  of 

1  The  y  in  Symonds  is  short,  like  y  in  Lynn. 


228  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Two  Sons,    the  child  cannot  destroy  it.     The  old  man  in  Mr.  Robert 

P-253-  Buchanan's  poem  has  two  sons,  but  these  twain  are  one. 

There  is  the  rough,  cold  soldier  across  the  water ;  there  is 

the  sinless  little  child  upon  his  mother's  knee.     The  first 

is  a  hard  reality ;  the  second  is  a  memory. 

Though  filial  love  is  a  rare  theme  in  poetry,  there  are 
Sohraband  some  glorious  exceptions.  Matthew  Arnold's  Sohrab  and 
Rustum,  Rustum,  one  of  the  great  poems  of  the  century,  is  such  an 
exception.  It  is  based  on  an  old  Persian  legend  of  the  love 
between  a  child  and  a  parent,  made  known  to  each  too  late. 
In  its  Persian  form  the  story  of  Sohrab  and  Rustum  was  the 
work  of  the  poet  Firdusi,  who  lived  in  the  tenth  century, 
and  wrote  the  national  epic,  The  Shah-Nameh,  "  Book  of 
Kings."  As  Arnold  tells  it,  modifying  the  ancient  version 
somewhat,  the  story  is  this.  Rustum,  the  mightiest  of  Per- 
sian warriors,  made  a  long  visit,  when  a  young  man,  to  the 
king  of  the  Koords.  The  king  gave  Rustum  his  daughter 
in  marriage.  Before  Rustum  became  a  father,  the  old 
desire  of  wandering  seized  him,  and  he  departed.  He  gave 
his  wife  a  seal,  that  she  might  prick  it  on  the  arm  of  the 
babe  she  bore.  The  princess  gave  birth  to  a  son,  whom 
she  named  Sohrab.  He  grew  in  stature  and  strength,  and 
became  a  warrior  of  the  greatest  promise.  Learning  the 
name  of  his  father,  Sohrab  longed  to  see  him,  and  deter- 
mined at  last  to  seek  him  through  the  world.  He  joined 
the  Tartars  in  their  war  on  the  Persians,  chiefly  in  the  hope 
of  finding  his  father.  When  the  two  armies  were  encamped 
beside  the  Oxus,  Sohrab  proposed  that  the  enemy  be  chal- 
lenged to  send  a  champion  to  meet  him  in  single  combat ; 
for  thus,  he  reasoned,  he  should  come  to  the  notice  of  the 
man  he  sought.  The  Persians  persuaded  Rustum  himself 
to  accept  the  challenge.  Of  course  the  latter  did  not  know 
the  identity  of  Sohrab.  Likewise  it  happened  that  the 
mighty  Rustum  concealed  his  own  name,  being  ashamed  to 


THE  HEARTH  22<) 

have  it  said  he  had  stooped  to  meet  any  one  man  on  equal 
terms.  The  two  champions  stood  forth.  In  a  long  fight 
Sohrab  proved  a  match  for  his  antagonist;  but  when  the 
latter  finally  shouted  "Rustum!"  as  a  war-cry,  the  youth 
was  unmanned,  and  before  he  could  recover  himself  was 
struck  down.  Dying,  he  showed  to  Rustum  the  seal  upon 
his  arm.  The  love  he  had  so  long  borne  to  this  unseen 
parent  he  now  poured  out  with  his  blood.  He  crawled 
upon  the  ground  to  where  his  heart-broken  father  lay,  and 
kissed  him,  and  called  him  back  to  life. 


THE   "OLD,  OLD   SONG" 

Charles  Kingsley 

When  all  the  world  is  young,  lad, 

And  all  the  trees  are  green ; 
And  every  goose  a  swan,  lad, 

And  every  lass  a  queen,  — 
Then  hey  for  boot  and  horse,  lad,  5 

And  round  the  world  away ; 
Young  blood  must  have  its  course,  lad, 

And  every  dog  his  day. 

When  all  the  world  is  old,  lad, 

And  all  the  trees  are  brown ;  10 

And  all  the  sport  is  stale,  lad, 

And  all  the  wheels  run  down, — 
Creep  home,  and  take  your  place  there, 

The  spent  and  maimed  among : 
God  grant  you  find  one  face  there  15 

You  loved  when  all  was  young. 


230  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

DRIVING   HOME  THE   COWS 
Kate  Putnam  Osgood 

Out  of  the  clover  and  blue-eyed  grass 

He  turned  them  into  the  river  lane ; 
One  after  another  he  let  them  pass, 

Then  fastened  the  meadow  bars  again. 

Under  the  willows,  and  over  the  hill,  5 

He  patiently  followed  their  sober  pace ; 

The  merry  whistle  for  once  was  still, 

And  something  shadowed  the  sunny  face. 

Only  a  boy  !  and  his  father  had  said 

He  never  could  let  his  youngest  go  :  10 

Two  already  were  lying  dead 

Under  the  feet  of  the  trampling  foe. 

But  after  the  evening  work  was  done, 

And  the  frogs  were  loud  in  the  meadow- swamp, 

Over  his  shoulder  he  slung  his  gun  15 

And  stealthily  followed  the  footpath  damp. 

Across  the  clover  and  through  the  wheat 

With  resolute  heart  and  purpose  grim, 
Though  cold  was  the  dew  on  his  hurrying  feet, 

And  the  blind  bat's  flitting  startled  him.  20 

Thrice  since  then  had  the  lanes  been  white, 
And  the  orchards  sweet  with  apple-bloom ; 

And  now,  when  the  cows  come  back  at  night, 
The  feeble  father  drove  them  home. 


THE  HEARTH  23 1 

For  news  had  come  to  the  lonely  farm  25 

That  three  were  lying  where  two  had  lain ; 

And  the  old  man's  tremulous,  palsied  arm 
Could  never  lean  on  a  son's  again. 

The  summer  day  grew  cool  and  late  : 

He  went  for  the  cows  when  the  work  was  done ;      30 
But  down  the  lane,  as  he  opened  the  gate, 

He  saw  them  coming,  one  by  one  — 

Brindle,  Ebony,  Speckle,  and  Bess, 

Shaking  their  horns  in  the  evening  wind ; 

Cropping  the  buttercups  out  of  the  grass,  —  35 

But  who  was  it  following  close  behind  ? 

Loosely  swayed  in  the  idle  air 

The  empty  sleeve  of  army  blue  ; 
And  worn  and  pale,  from  the  crisping  hair, 

Looked  out  a  face  that  the  father  knew.  40 

For  gloomy  prisons  will  sometimes  yawn, 

And  yield  their  dead  unto  life  again : 
And  the  day  that  comes  with  a  cloudy  dawn 

In  golden  glory  at  last  may  wane. 

The  great  tears  sprang  to  their  meeting  eyes ;  45 

For  the  heart  must  speak  when  the  lips  are  dumb : 

And  under  the  silent  evening  skies 

Together  they  followed  the  cattle  home. 


Name  the  metre  according  to  the  number  of  accents.  Trochaic  or  iam- 
bic ?     Name  the  stanza  and  give  the  rhyme-scheme. 

Supposing  that  Mrs.  Osgood  could  have  commanded  such  quantities  of 
picturesque  detail  as  appear  in  The  Voyage  of  Maeldune,  would  she  have 
done  well  to  fill  this  poem  with  such  detail  ?     Give  your  reasons. 


232 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


THERE'S   NAE   LUCK  ABOUT  THE   HOUSE 

William  Julius  Mickle  (?) 
Jean  Adams  (?) 

And  are  ye  sure  the  news  is  true  ! 

And  are  ye  sure  he's  weel? 
Is  this  a  time  to  think  of  wark  ! 

Mak  haste,  lay  by  your  wheel ; 
Is  this  the  time  to  spin  a  thread,  5 

When  Colin's  at  the  door  ! 
Reach  me  my  cloak,  I'll  to  the  quay, 

And  see  him  come  ashore. 

For  there's  nae  luck  about  the  house, 

There's  nae  luck  at  a' ;  10 

There's  little  pleasure  in  the  house 
When  our  gudeman's  awa. 

And  gie  to  me  my  bigonet, 

My  bishop's  satin  gown  ; 
For  I  maun  tell  the  baillie's  wife  15 

That  Colin's  come  to  town. 
My  Turkey  slippers  maun  gae  on, 

My  stockings  pearly  blue  ; 
It's  a'  to  pleasure  my  gudeman, 

For  he's  baith  leal  and  true.  20 

Rise,  lass,  and  mak  a  clean  fireside, 

Put  on  the  muckle  pot, 
Gie  little  Kate  her  button  gown, 

And  Jock  his  Sunday  coat ; 

13.  bigonet,  a  woman's  cap.     22.  muckle,  large. 


THE  HEARTH 


233 


And  mak  their  shoon  as  black  as  slaes,  25 

Their  hose  as  white  as  snaw, 
It's  a'  to  please  my  ain  gudeman, 

For  he's  been  long  awa. 

There's  twa  fat  hens  upo'  the  bank 

Been  fed  this  month  and  mair,  30 

Mak  haste  and  thraw  their  necks  about, 

That  Colin  weel  may  fare ; 
And  mak  the  table  neat  and  clean, 

Gar  ilka  thing  look  braw, 
For  wha  can  tell  how  Colin  far'd  35 

When  he  was  far  awa? 

Sae  true  his  heart,  sae  smooth  his  speech, 

His  breath  like  caller  air, 
His  very  foot  has  music  in't 

As  he  comes  up  the  stair  !  40 

And  will  I  see  his  face  again, 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak  ? 
I'm  downright  dizzy  wi'  the  thought, 

In  troth  I'm  like  to  greet. 

If  Colin's  weel,  and  weel  content,  45 

I  hae  nae  mair  to  crave  : 
And  gin  I  live  to  keep  him  sae, 

I'm  blest  aboon  the  lave. 
And  will  I  see  his  face  again, 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak  ?  50 

I'm  downright  dizzy  wi'  the  thought, 

In  troth  I'm  like  to  greet. 

25.  slaes,  sloes.  34.  Make  everything  look  neat.  38.  caller,  sweet,  fresh. 
41.  The  Scotch,  like  the  Americans,  are  weak  in  their  knowledge  of  shall 
and  will.    44.  greet,  cry.    47.  gin,  if.    48.  aboon  the  lave,  above  the  rest. 


234 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


For  there's  nae  luck  about  the  house, 

There's  nae  luck  at  a' ; 
There's  little  pleasure  in  the  house  55 

When  our  gudeman's  awa. 


Is  this  poem  purely  narrative  or  purely  lyrical,  or  a  mixture  of  both 
tones  ?    The  familiar  Scotch  music  to  which  it  is  set  is  excellent. 


MARY-ANN'S  CHILD 
William  Barnes 

Mary-Ann  was  alone  with  her  baby  in  arms, 

In  her  house  with  the  trees  overhead, 
For  her  husband  was  out  in  the  night  and  the  storms, 

In  his  business  a-toiling  for  bread ; 
And  she,  as  the  wind  in  the  elm-heads  did  roar,  5 

Did  grieve  to  think  he  was  all  night  out  of  door. 

And  her  kinsfolk  and  neighbors  did  say  of  her  child 

(Under  the  lofty  elm-tree), 
That  a  prettier  never  did  babble  and  smile 

Up  a-top  of  a  proud  mother's  knee  ;  10 

And  his  mother  did  toss  him,  and  kiss  him,  and  call 
Him  her  darling,  and  life,  and  her  hope  and  her  all. 

But  she  found  in  the  evening  the  child  was  not  well 

(Under  the  gloomy  elm-tree), 
And  she  felt  she  could  give  all  the  world  for  to  tell         15 

Of  a  truth  what  his  ailing  could  be ; 
And  she  thought  on  him  last  in  her  prayers  at  night, 
And  she  look'd  at  him  last  as  she  put  out  the  light. 


THE  HEARTH 


235 


And  she  found  him  grow  worse  in  the  dead  of  the  night 

(Under  the  gloomy  elm-tree),  20 

And  she  press' d  him  against  her  warm  bosom  so  tight, 

And  she  rock'd  him  so  sorrowfully ; 
And  there,  in  his  anguish,  a-nestling  he  lay, 
.  Till  his  struggles  grew  weak,  and  his  cries  died  away. 

And  the  moon  was  a-shining  down  into  the  place  25 

(Under  the  gloomy  elm-tree), 
And  his  mother  could  see  that  his  lips  and  his  face 

Were  as  white  as  clean  ashes  could  be ; 
And  her  tongue  was  a-tied,  and  her  still  heart  did  swell 
Till  her  senses  came  back  with  the  first  tear  that  fell.      30 

Never  more  can  she  feel  his  warm  face  in  her  breast 

(Under  the  leafy  elm-tree) , 
For  his  eyes  are  a-shut,  and  his  hands  are  at  rest, 

And  he's  now  from  his  pain  a-set  free ; 
For  his  soul  we  do  know  is  to  heaven  a- fled,  35 

Where  no  pain  is  a-known,  and  no  tears  are  a-shed. 

Is  the  metre  anapestic  or  dactyllic  ?    What  is  the  rhyme-scheme? 

Is  the  poem  eminently  simple  in  diction,  or  is  it  elaborate  ?  Is  elabo- 
rate diction  natural  to  the  expression  of  deep  grief?  Is  the  poem  chiefly 
lyrical,  or  chiefly  narrative  ? 


DAVID   AND  ABSALOM 
2  Samuel  xviii. 

And  David  sat  between  the  two  gates  :  and  the  watch- 
man said,  Methinketh  the  running  of  the  foremost  is  like 
the  running  of  Ahimaaz  the  son  of  Zadok.  And  the  king 
said,  He  is  a  good  man,  and  cometh  with  good  tidings. 
And  Ahimaaz  called,  and  said  unto  the  king,  All  is  well. 
And  he  fell  down  to  the  earth  upon  his  face  before  the 


236  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

king,  and  said,  Blessed  be  the  Lord  thy  God,  which  hath 
delivered  up  the  men  that  lifted  up  their  hand  against  my 
lord  the  king.  And  the  king  said,  Is  the  young  man 
Absalom  safe  ?  And  Ahimaaz  answered,  When  Joab  sent  10 
the  king's  servant,  and  me  thy  servant,  I  saw  a  great 
tumult,  but  I  knew  not  what  it  was.  And  the  king  said 
unto  him,  Turn  aside,  and  stand  here.  And  he  turned 
aside,  and  stood  still.  And,  behold,  Cushi  came;  and 
Cushi  said,  Tidings,  my  lord  the  king :  for  the  Lord  hath  15 
avenged  thee  this  day  of  all  them  that  rose  up  against 
thee.  And  the  king  said  unto  Cushi,  Is  the  young  man 
Absalom  safe  ?  And  Cushi  answered,  The  enemies  of  my 
lord  the  king,  and  all  that  rise  against  thee  to  do  thee 
hurt,  be  as  that  young  man  is.  And  the  king  was  much  20 
moved,  and  went  up  to  the  chamber  over  the  gate,  and 
wept :  and  as  he  went,  thus  he  said,  O  my  son  Absalom, 
my  son,  my  son  Absalom  !  would  God  I  had  died  for 
thee,  O  Absalom,  my  son,  my  son. 

From  your  knowledge  of  rhetoric,  say  whether  the  sentences  are  loose  or 
periodic.  Are  periodic  sentences  natural  to  the  expression  of  deep  grief  ? 
Note  the  great  number  of  initial  Ands ;  do  they  lend  simplicity  or  com- 
plexity to  the  tone  of  the  narrative  ? 

HOW'S  MY  BOY? 

Sydney  Dobell 

"  Ho,  Sailor  of  the  sea ! 
How's  my  boy  —  my  boy  ?  " 
"What's  your  boy's  name,  good  wife, 
And  in  what  good  ship  sail'd  he?  " 

"  My  boy  John  —  5 

He  that  went  to  sea  — 

What  care  I  for  the  ship,  sailor? 

My  boy's  my  boy  to  me. 


THE  HEARTH  2$7 

"You  come  back  from  sea, 

And  not  know  my  John?  10 

I  might  as  well  have  ask'd  some  landsman 

Yonder  down  in  the  town. 

There's  not  an  ass  in  all  the  parish 

But  he  knows  my  John. 


"  How' s  my  boy  —  my  boy  ?  15 

And  unless  you  let  me  know 

I'll  swear  you  are  no  sailor, 

Blue  jacket  or  no, 

Brass  buttons  or  no,  sailor, 

Anchor  and  crown  or  no !  20 

Sure  his  ship  was  the  Jolly  Briton  "  — 

"Speak  low,  woman,  speak  low!" 

"  And  why  should  I  speak  low,  sailor, 

About  my  own  boy  John  ? 

If  I  was  loud  as  I  am  proud  25 

I'd  sing  him  over  the  town ! 

Why  should  I  speak  low,  sailor?" 

"That  good  ship  went  down." 

"How's  my  boy  —  my  boy? 

What  care  I  for  the  ship,  sailor?  30 

I  was  never  aboard  her. 

Be  she  afloat  or  be  she  aground, 

Sinking  or  swimming,  I'll  be  bound, 

Her  owners  can  afford  her ! 

I  say,  how's  my  John?  "  35 

"  Every  man  on  board  went  down, 

Every  man  aboard  her." 

"How's  my  boy  —  my  boy? 

What  care  I  for  the  men,  sailor? 


238  s TUD  Y  0F  LITER  A  TURE 

I'm  not  their  mother —  40 

How's  my  boy  —  my  boy  ? 
Tell  me  of  him  and  no  other ! 
How's  my  boy  —  my  boy?" 

Is  there  any  excuse  for  the  irregular  metre  of  this  poem?     Is  the  poem 
chiefly  lyrical  or  chiefly  narrative  ? 


THE  FORSAKEN   MERMAN 

Matthew  Arnold 

Come,  dear  children,  let  us  away; 

Down  and  away  below ! 

Now  my  brothers  call  from  the  bay, 

Now  the  great  winds  shoreward  blow, 

Now  the  salt  tides  seaward  flow; 

Now  the  wild  white  horses  play, 

Champ  and  chafe  and  toss  in  the  spray. 

Children  dear,  let  us  away ! 

This  way,  this  way ! 

Call  her  once  before  you  go  — 

Call  once  yet ! 

In  a  voice  that  she  will  know : 

"  Margaret !     Margaret !  " 

Children's  voices  should  be  dear 

(Call  once  more)  to  a  mother's  ear; 

Children's  voices,  wild  with  pain  — 

Surely  she  will  come  again ! 

Call  her  once  and  come  away; 

This  way,  this  way ! 

"  Mother  dear,  we  cannot  stay ! 

The  wild  white  horses  foam  and  fret." 

Margaret !     Margaret ! 


THE  HEARTH 


239 


Come,  dear  children,  come  away  down; 

Call  no  more ! 

One  last  look  at  the  white-wall' d  town,  25 

And  the  little  gray  church  on  the  windy  shore; 

Then  come  down ! 

She  will  not  come  though  you  call  all  day; 

Come  away,  come  away ! 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday  30 

We  heard  the  sweet  bells  over  the  bay? 

In  the  caverns  where  we  lay, 

Through  the  surf  and  through  the  swell, 

The  far-off  sound  of  a  silver  bell  ? 

Sand-strewn  caverns,  cool  and  deep,  35 

Where  the  winds  are  all  asleep; 

Where  the  spent  lights  quiver  and  gleam, 

Where  the  salt  weed  sways  in  the  stream, 

Where  the  sea-beasts,  ranged  all  round, 

Feed  in  the  ooze  of  their  pasture-ground;  40 

Where  the  sea-snakes  coil  and  twine, 

Dry  their  mail  and  bask  in  the  brine; 

Where  great  whales  come  sailing  by, 

Sail  and  sail,  with  unshut  eye, 

Round  the  world  for  ever  and  aye?  45 

When  did  music  come  this  way? 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday? 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday 

(Call  yet  once)  that  she  went  away? 

Once  she  sate  with  you  and  me,  50 

On  a  red  gold  throne  in  the  heart  of  the  sea, 

And  the  youngest  sate  on  her  knee. 

She  comb'd  its  bright  hair,  and  she  tended  it  well, 

When  down  swung  the  sound  of  a  far-off  bell. 


240 


STUD  Y  OF  LITER  A  TURE 


She  sigh'd,  she  look'd  up  through  the  clear  green  sea;      55 

She  said :  "  I  must  go,  for  my  kinsfolk  pray 

In  the  little  gray  church  on  the  shore  to-day. 

'Twill  be  Easter-time  in  the  world  —  ah  me! 

And  I  lose  my  poor  soul,  Merman !  here  with  thee." 

I  said:  "Go  up,  dear  heart,  through  the  waves;  60 

Say  thy  prayer,  and  come  back  to  the  kind  sea-caves ! " 

She  smiled,  she  went  up  through  the  surf  in  the  bay. 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday  ? 

Children  dear,  were  we  long  alone? 

"The  sea  grows  stormy,  the  little  ones  moan;  65 

Long  prayers,"  I  said,  "in  the  world  they  say; 

Come !  "  I  said;  and  we  rose  through  the  surf  in  the  bay. 

We  went  up  the  beach,  by  the  sandy  down 

Where  the  sea-stocks  bloom,  to  the  white-wall' d  town; 

Through  the  narrow  paved  streets,  where  all  was  still,       70 

To  the  little  gray  church  on  the  windy  hill. 

From  the  church  came  a  murmur  of  folk  at  their  prayers, 

But  we  stood  without  in  the  cold  blowing  airs. 

We  climb 'd  on  the  graves,  on  the  stones  worn  with  rains, 

And  we  gazed  up  the  aisle  through  the  small  leaded  panes. 

She  sate  by  the  pillar;  we  saw  her  clear:  76 

"  Margaret,  hist !  come  quick,  we  are  here ! 

Dear  heart,"  I  said,  "we  are  long  alone; 

The  sea  grows  stormy,  the  little  ones  moan." 

But,  ah,  she  gave  me  never  a  look,  80 

For  her  eyes  were  seal'd  to  the  holy  book! 

Loud  prays  the  priest;  shut  stands  the  door. 

Come  away,  children,  call  no  more ! 

Come  away,  come  down,  call  no  more ! 

Down,  down,  down  !  85 

Down  to  the  depths  of  the  sea ! 


THE  HEARTH  24 1 

She  sits  at  her  wheel  in  the  humming  town, 

Singing  most  joyfully. 

Hark  what  she  sings:  "O  joy,  O  joy, 

For  the  humming  street,  and  the  child  with  its  toy !  90 

For  the  priest,  and  the  bell,  and  the  holy  well; 

For  the  wheel  where  I  spun, 

And  the  blessed  light  of  the  sun ! " 

And  so  she  sings  her  fill, 

Singing  most  joyfully,  95 

Till  the  spindle  drops  from  her  hand, 

And  the  whizzing  wheel  stands  still. 

She  steals  to  the  window,  and  looks  at  the  sand, 

And  over  the  sand  at  the  sea; 

And  her  eyes  are  set  in  a  stare;  100 

And  anon  there  breaks  a  sigh, 

And  anon  there  drops  a  tear, 

From  a  sorrow-clouded  eye, 

And  a  heart  sorrow-laden, 

A  long,  long  sigh;  105 

For  the  cold  strange  eyes  of  a  little  Mermaiden 

And  the  gleam  of  her  golden  hair. 

Come  away,  away,  children; 

Come  children,  come  down ! 

The  hoarse  wind  blows  coldly;  no 

Lights  shine  in  the  town. 

She  will  start  from  her  slumber 

When  gusts  shake  the  door; 

She  will  hear  the  winds  howling, 

Will  hear  the  waves  roar.  X15 

We  shall  see,  while  above  us 

The  waves  roar  and  whirl, 

A  ceiling  of  amber, 

A  pavement  of  pearl. 


242  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Singing :  "  Here  came  a  mortal, 
But  faithless  was  she ! 
And  alone  dwell  forever 
The  kings  of  the  sea." 


But,  children,  at  midnight, 

When  soft  the  winds  blow,  125 

When  clear  falls  the  moonlight, 

When  spring-tides  are  low; 

When  sweet  airs  come  seaward 

From  heaths  starr'd  with  broom, 

And  high  rocks  throw  mildly  130 

On  the  blanch'd  sands  a  gloom; 

Up  the  still,  glistening  beaches, 

Up  the  creeks  we  will  hie, 

Over  banks  of  bright  seaweed 

The  ebb-tide  leaves  dry.  135 

We  will  gaze,  from  the  sand-hills, 

At  the  white,  sleeping  town ; 

At  the  church  on  the  hill-side  — 

And  then  come  back  down. 

Singing :  "  There  dwells  a  loved  one,  140 

But  cruel  is  she ! 

She  left  lonely  forever 

The  kings  of  the  sea." 


This  poem  must  not  be  read  hastily  when  read  aloud;  let  the  voice 
linger  a  little  after  each  short  line,  and  what  seems  like  awkward  irregular- 
ity will  prove  a  true  rhythm,  pleasantly  varied. 

Is  the  poem  mostly  narrative  or  mostly  lyrical?  Which  of  these  words 
might  be  applied  to  the  merman  :  gentle,  melancholy,  pathetic,  treacherous, 
true?  How  does  Arnold  succeed  in  making  the  depths  of  the  sea  attractive? 
Can  you  remember  stories  in  which  the  same  regions  were  rendered  very 
unlovely?  What  physical  traits  of  the  merman  and  his  children  are  men- 
tioned? Is  there  anything  in  Arnold's  conception  of  the  merman  different 
from  a  human  being,  except  the  ability  to  breathe  in  water? 


ft 


THE  HEARTH  243 


THE   TOYS 

Coventry  Patmore 


My  little  son,  who  look'd  from  thoughtful  eyes 
And  mov'd  and  spoke  in  quiet  grown-up  wise, 
Having  my  law  the  seventh  time  disobey' d, 
I  struck  him,  and  dismiss'd 

With  hard  words  and  unkiss'd,  5 

His  Mother,  who  was  patient,  being  dead. 
Then,  fearing  lest  his  grief  should  hinder  sleep, 
I  visited  his  bed, 
But  found  him  slumbering  deep, 

With  darken'd  eyelids,  and  their  lashes  yet  10 

From  his  late  sobbing  wet. 
And  I,  with  moan, 

Kissing  away  his  tears,  left  others  of  my  own; 
For,  on  a  table  drawn  beside  his  head, 
He  had  put,  within  his  reach,  15 

A  box  of  counters  and  a  red-vein'd  stone, 
A  piece  of  glass  abraded  by  the  beach, 
And  six  or  seven  shells, 
A  bottle  with  bluebells 

And  two  French  copper  coins,  ranged  there  with  careful 
art,  20 

To  comfort  his  sad  heart. 
So  when  that  night  I  pray'd 
To  God,  I  wept,  and  said : 
Ah,  when  at  last  we  lie  with  tranced  breath, 
Not  vexing  Thee  in  death,  25 

And  Thou  rememberest  of  what  toys 
We  made  our  joys, 


244  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

How  weakly  understood 

Thy  great  commanded  good, 

Then,  fatherly  not  less  3° 

Than  I  whom  Thou  hast  moulded  from  the  clay, 

Thou 'It  leave  Thy  wrath,  and  say, 

"I  will  be  sorry  for  their  childishness." 


AN  EPISODE 
John  Addington  Symonds 

Vasari  tells  that  Luca  Signorelli, 

The  morning  star  of  Michael  Angelo, 

Had  but  one  son,  a  youth  of  seventeen  summers, 

Who  died.     That  day  the  master  at  his  easel 

Wielded  the  liberal  brush  wherewith  he  painted  5 

At  Orvieto,  on  the  Duomo's  walls, 

Stern  forms  of  Death  and  Heaven  and  Hell  and  Judgment. 

Then  came  they  to  him,  and  cried :  "  Thy  son  is  dead, 

Slain  in  a  duel;  but  the  bloom  of  life 

Yet  lingers  round  red  lips  and  downy  cheek."  10 

Luca  spoke  not,  but  listen' d.     Next  they  bore 

His  dead  son  to  the  silent  painting-room, 

And  left  on  tiptoe  son  and  sire  alone. 

Still  Luca  spoke  and  groan' d  not;  but  he  rais'd 

The  wonderful  dead  youth,  and  smooth'd  his  hair,  15 

Wash'd  his  red  wounds,  and  laid  him  on  a  bed, 

Naked  and  beautiful,  where  rosy  curtains 

Shed  a  soft  glimmer  of  uncertain  splendor 

Lifelike  upon  the  marble  limbs  below. 

2.  That  is,  the  herald  of  Michael  Angelo ;  Luca  preceded  Angelo,  and 
as  an  artist  was  like  him  in  many  ways.  6.  Duomo  means  cathedral; 
the  German  word  is  Dom  ;  our  English  dome  is  the  same  word,  with  a 
changed  meaning. 


THE  HEARTH  245 

Then  Luca  seiz'd  his  palette:  hour  by  hour  20 

Silence  was  in  the  room;  none  durst  approach: 
Morn  wore  to  noon,  and  noon  to  eve,  when  shyly 
A  little  maid  peep'd  in,  and  saw  the  painter 
Painting  his  dead  son  with  unerring  handstroke, 
Firm  and  dry-ey'd  before  the  lordly  canvas.  25 

What  is  the  metre?    What  previous  examples  of  it? 


THE  SELLING  OF  RHODOPE 

Walter  Savage  Landor 

Rhodope.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  morning  when  my 
father,  sitting  in  the  coolest  part  of  the  house,  exchanged 
his  last  measure  of  grain  for  a  chlamys  of  scarlet  cloth 
fringed  with  silver.  He  watched  the  merchant  out  of 
the  door,  and  then  looked  wistfully  into  the  corn  chest.  5 
I,  who  thought  there  was  something  worth  seeing,  looked 
in  also,  and  finding  it  empty,  expressed  my  disappoint- 
ment, not  thinking,  however,  about  the  corn.  A  faint 
and  transient  smile  came  over  his  countenance  at  the 
sight  of  mine.  He  unfolded  the  chlamys,  stretched  it  10 
out  with  both  hands  before  me,  and  then  cast  it  over  my 
shoulders.  I  looked  down  on  the  glittering  fringe  and 
screamed  with  joy.  He  then  went  out;  and  I  know  not 
what  flowers  he  gathered,  but  he  gathered  many;  and 
some  he  placed  in  my  bosom,  and  some  in  my  hair.  15 
But  I  told  him  with  captious  pride,  first  that  I  could 
arrange  them  better,  and  again  that  I  would  have  only 
the  white.  However,  when  he  had  selected  all  the 
white,  and  I  had  placed  a  few  of  them  according  to  my 

3.  chlamys  (a  kind  of  cloak)  is  pronounced  clamis. 


246  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

fancy,  I  told  him  (rising  in  my  slipper)  he  might  crown  20 
me  with  the  remainder.  The  splendor  of  my  apparel 
gave  me  a  sensation  of  authority.  Soon  as  the  flowers 
had  taken  their  station  on  my  head,  I  expressed  a  dig- 
nified satisfaction  at  the  taste  displayed  by  my  father, 
just  as  if  I  could  have  seen  how  they  appeared !  But  he  25 
knew  that  there  was  at  least  as  much  pleasure  as  pride 
in  it,  and  perhaps  we  divided  the  latter  (alas !  not  both) 
pretty  equally.  He  now  took  me  into  the  market  place, 
where  a  concourse  of  people  was  waiting  for  the  purchase 
of  slaves.  Merchants  came  and  looked  at  me;  some  30 
commending,  others  disparaging;  but  all  agreeing  that  I 
was  slender  and  delicate,  that  I  could  not  live  long,  and 
that  I  should  give  much  trouble.  Many  would  have 
bought  the  chlamys,  but  there  was  something  less  salable 
in  the  child  and  flowers.  35 

SEsop.  Had  thy  features  been  coarse,  and  thy  voice 
rustic,  they  would  all  have  patted  thy  cheeks  and  found 
no  fault  in  thee. 

Rhod.     As  it  was,  every  one  had  bought  exactly  such 
another  in  time  past,  and  been  a  loser  by  it.     At  these  40 
speeches  I  perceived  the  flowers  tremble  slightly  on  my 
bosom,  from  my  father's  agitation.     Although  he  scoffed 
at  them,  knowing  my  healthiness,  he  was  troubled  inter- 
nally,  and  said   many  short  prayers,   not  very  unlike 
imprecations,   turning  his  head  aside.     Proud  was  I,   45 
prouder  than  ever,   when  at  last  several   talents  were 
offered  for  me,  and  by  the  very  man  who,  in  the  begin- 
ning, had  undervalued  me  the  most,  and  prophesied  the 
worst  of  me.     My  father  scowled  at  him  and  refused  the 
money.     I  thought  he  was  playing  a  game,  and  began  to  5° 
wonder  what  it  could  be,   since   I  had  never  seen   it 
played  before.     Then  I  fancied  it  might  be  some  cele- 
bration because  plenty  had  returned  to  the  city,  inso- 


THE  HEARTH 


247 


much  that  my  father  had  bartered  the  last  of  the  corn 
he  hoarded.     I  grew  more  and  more  delighted  at  the  55 
sport.     But  soon  there  advanced  an  elderly  man,  who 
said  gravely:  "Thou  hast  stolen  this  child:  her  vesture 
alone  is  worth  above  a  hundred  drachmas.     Carry  her 
home  again  to  her  parents,  and  do  it  directly,  or  Neme- 
sis and  the  Eumenides  will  overtake  thee."     Knowing  60 
the  estimation  in  which  my  father  had    always    been 
holden   by  his   fellow-citizens,    I   laughed   again,   and 
pinched  his  ear.     He,  although  naturally  choleric,  burst 
forth  into  no  resentment  at  these  reproaches,  but  said 
calmly,  "  I  think  I  know  thee  by  name,  O  guest !     Surely  65 
thou  art  Xanthus  the  Samian.     Deliver  this  child  from 
famine." 

Again  I  laughed  aloud  and  heartily;  and  thinking  it 
was  now  my  part  of  the  game,  I  held  out  both  my  arms 
and  protruded  my  whole  body  towards  the  stranger.  He  7° 
would  not  receive  me  from  my  father's  neck,  but  he 
asked  me  with  benignity  and  solicitude  if  I  was  hungry; 
at  which  I  laughed  again,  and  more  than  ever;  for  it 
was  early  in  the  morning,  soon  after  the  first  meal,  and 
my  father  had  nourished  me  most  carefully  and  plenti-  75 
fully  in  all  the  days  of  the  famine.  But  Xanthus,  wait- 
ing for  no  answer,  took  out  of  a  sack,  which  one  of  his 
slaves  carried  at  his  side,  a  cake  of  wheaten  bread  and  a 
piece  of  honeycomb,  and  gave  them  to  me.  I  held  the 
honeycomb  to  my  father's  mouth,  thinking  it  the  most  80 
of  a  dainty.  He  dashed  it  to  the  ground;  but  seizing 
the  bread,  he  began  to  devour  it  ferociously.  This, 
also,  I  thought  was  in  play;  and  I  clapped  my  hands  at 
his  distortions.     But  Xanthus  looked  on  him  like  one 

59.  Nemesis  was  the  Greek  name  for  the  avenging  fate  that  follows 
sin.  The  Eumenides  were  the  Furies  —  goddesses  whose  duty  was  to  hunt 
down  criminals. 


248  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

afraid,   and  smote  the  cake  from  him,  crying  aloud,   85 
"Name  the  price."     My  father  now  placed  me  in  his 
arms,  naming  a  price  much  below  what  the  other  had " 
offered,  saying,  "  The  gods  are  ever  with  thee,  O  Xan- 
thus!  therefore  to  thee  do  I  consign  my  child."     But 
while  Xanthus  was  counting  out  the  silver,  my  father  90 
seized  the  cake  again,  which  the  slave  had  taken  up  and 
was  about  to  replace  in  the  wallet.     His  hunger  was 
exasperated  by  the  taste  and  the  delay.     Suddenly  there 
arose  much  tumult.     Turning  round  in  the  old  woman's 
bosom  who  had  received  me  from  Xanthus,  I  saw  my  95 
beloved    father   struggling   on   the   ground,    livid   and 
speechless.     The  more  violent  my  cries,  the  more  rap- 
idly they  hurried  me  away;  and  many  were  soon  between 
us.     Little  was  I  suspicious  that  he  had  suffered  the 
pangs  of  famine  long  before :  alas !  and  he  had  suffered  100 
them  for  me.     Do  I  weep  while  I  am  telling  you  how 
they  ended?    I  could  not  have  closed  his  eyes,  I  was  too 
young;  but  I  might  have  received  his  last  breath,  the 
only  comfort  of  an  orphan's  bosom.     Do  you  now  think 
him  blamable,  O  ^sop?  105 

j£s.  It  was  sublime  humanity:  it  was  forbearance 
and  self-denial  which  even  the  immortal  gods  have  never 
shown  us.  He  could  endure  to  perish  by  those  torments 
which  alone  are  both  acute  and  slow;  he  could  number 
the  steps  of  death  and  miss  not  one;  but  he  could  never  no 
see  thy  tears,  nor  let  thee  see  his.  O  weakness  above 
all  fortitude  !  Glory  to  the  man  who  rather  bears  a  grief 
corroding  his  breast,  than  permits  it  to  prowl  beyond, 
and  to  prey  on  the  tender  and  compassionate !  Women 
commiserate  the  brave,  and  men  the  beautiful.  The  115 
dominion  of  pity  has  usually  this  extent,  no  wider. 
Thy  father  was  exposed  to  the  obloquy  not  only  of  the 
malicious,  but  also  of  the  ignorant  and  thoughtless,  who 


THE  HEARTH  249 

condemn  in  the  unfortunate  what  they  applaud  in  the 
prosperous.  There  is  no  shame  in  poverty  or  in  slavery,  120 
if  we  neither  make  ourselves  poor  by  our  improvidence 
nor  slaves  by  our  venality.  The  lowest  and  the  highest 
of  the  human  race  are  sold :  most  of  the  intermediate 
are  also  slaves,  but  slaves  who  bring  no  money  into  the 
market.  I25 

Rhod.  Surely  the  great  and  powerful  are  never  to  be 
purchased,  are  they? 

^Es.  It  may  be  a  defect  in  my  vision,  but  I  cannot 
see  greatness  on  the  earth.  What  they  tell  me  is  great 
and  aspiring,  to  me  seems  little  and  crawling.  Let  me  130 
meet  thy  question  with  another.  What  monarch  gives 
his  daughter  for  nothing?  Either  he  receives  stone 
walls  and  unwilling  cities  in  return,  or  he  barters  her  for 
a  parcel  of  spears  and  horses  and  horsemen,  waving 
away  from  his  declining  and  helpless  age  young  joyous  135 
life,  and  trampling  down  the  freshest  and  sweetest 
memories.  Midas,  in  the  height  of  prosperity,  would 
have  given  his  daughter  to  Sycaon,  rather  than  to  the 
gentlest,  the  most  virtuous,  the  most  intelligent  of  his 
subjects.  Thy  father  threw  wealth  aside,  and,  placing  140 
thee  under  the  protection  of  virtue,  rose  up  from  the 
house  of  famine  to  partake  in  the  festivals  of  the  gods. 
Release  my  neck,  O  Rhodope !  for  I  have  other  questions 
to  ask  of  thee  about  him. 

Rhod.     To   hear   thee   converse  on   him    in  such  a  145 
manner  I  can  do  even  that. 

ALs.  Before  the  day  of  separation  was  he  never  sor- 
rowful? Did  he  never  by  tears  or  silence  reveal  the 
secret  of  his  soul? 

Rhod.     I  was  too  infantine  to  perceive  or  imagine  his  150 
intention.      The  night  before  I  became  the  slave   of 
Xanthus,  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  my  bed.     I  pretended 


250 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


to  be  asleep :  he  moved  away  silently  and  softly.  I  saw 
him  collect  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand  the  crumbs  I  had 
wasted  on  the  floor,  and  then  eat  them,  and  then  look  i5s 
if  any  were  remaining.  I  thought  he  did  so  out  of 
fondness  for  me,  remembering  that,  even  before  the 
famine,  he  had  often  swept  up  off  the  table  the  bread  I 
had  broken,  and  had  made  me  put  it  between  his  lips. 
I  would  not  dissemble  very  long,  but  said :  —  160 

"  Come,  now  you  have  wakened  me,  you  must  sing 
me  asleep  again,  as  you  did  when  I  was  little." 

He  smiled  faintly  at  this,  and  after  some  delay,  when 
he  had  walked  up  and  down  the  chamber,  thus  began :  — 

"I  will  sing  to  thee   one    song   more,   my  wakeful  165 
Rhodope !  my  chirping  bird !  over  whom  is  no  mother's 
wing !     That  it  may  lull  thee  asleep.     I  will  celebrate 
no  longer,  as  in  the  days  of  wine  and  plenteousness, 
the  glory  of  Mars,  guiding  in  their  invisibly  rapid  onset 
the  dappled  steeds  of  Rhaesus.     What  hast  thou  to  do,  170 
my  little  one,  with  arrows  tired  of  clustering  in  the 
quiver?     How  much  quieter  is  thy  pallet  than  the  tents 
which  whitened  the  plain  of   Simois!     What   knowest 
thou   about   the   river    Eurotas?      What  knowest  thou 
about  its  ancient  palace,  once  trodden  by  the  assembled  175 
gods,  and  then  polluted  by  the  Phrygians?   What  knowest 
thou  of  perfidious  men  or  of  sanguinary  deeds? 

"  Pardon  me,  O  goddess  who  presidest  in  Cythera !     I 
am  not  irreverent  to  thee,  but  ever  grateful.     May  she 
upon  whose  brow  I  laid  my  hand  praise  and  bless  thee  180 
for  evermore. 

"  Ah  yes !  continue  to  hold  up  above  the  coverlet  those 
fresh  and  rosy  palms  clasped  together;  her  benefits  have 

-  170.  Rhcesus  was  a  hero,  mentioned  in  Homer's  Iliad,  who  was  famous 
for  his  steeds,  the  gift  of  a  god.  178.  Mount  Cythera,  the  favorite  abode 
of  Venus. 


THE  HEARTH 


251 


descended  on  thy  beauteous  head,  my  child.  The  fates 
also  have  sung  beyond  thy  hearing,  of  pleasanter  scenes  185 
than  the  snow-fed  Hebrus;  of  more  than  dim  grottoes 
and  sky-bright  waters.  Even  now  a  low  murmur  swells 
upward  to  my  ear;  and  not  from  the  spindle  comes  the 
sound,  but  from  those  who  sing  slowly  over  it,  bending 
all  three  their  tremulous  heads  together.  I  wish  thou  190 
could' st  hear  it;  for  seldom  are  their  voices  so  sweet. 
Thy  pillow  intercepts  the  song  perhaps,  lie  down  again, 
lie  down,  my  Rhodope  —  I  will  repeat  what  they  are 
saying :  — 

"  'Happier  shalt  thou  be,  nor  less  glorious  than  even  19s 
she,  the  truly  beloved,  for  whose  return  to  the  distaff 
and  the  lyre,  the  portals  of  Tsenarus  flew  open.     In  the 
woody  dells  of  Ismarus,  and  when  she  bathed  among  the 
swans  of   Strymon,   the  nymphs   called  her  Eurydice. 
Thou  shalt  behold  that  fairest  and  that  fondest  one  here-  200 
after.     But  first  thou  must  go  unto  the  land  of  the  lotos, 
where  famine  never  cometh,  and  where  alone  the  works 
of  man  are  immortal.'     O  my  child!  the  undeceiving 
fates  have  uttered  this.     Other  powers  have  visited  me, 
and  have  strengthened  my  heart  with  dreams  and  visions.  205 
We  shall  meet  again,  my  Rhodope,  in  shady  groves  and 
verdant  meadows,  and  we  shall  sit  by  the  side  of  those 
who  loved  us." 

He  was  rising :  I  threw  my  arms  about  his  neck,  and 
before  I  would  let  him  go,  I  made  him  promise  to  place  210 
me,  not  by  the  side,  but  between  them;  for  I  thought 
of  her  who  had  left  us.  At  that  time  there  were  but 
two,  O  y£sop!  You  ponder;  you  are  about  to  reprove 
my  assurance  in  having  thus  repeated  my  own  praises. 


188.   The  spindle  is  that  of  the  fates,  the  goddesses  who  spin  the  thread 
of  life  and  cut  it. 


252 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


I  would  have  omitted  some  of  the  words,  only  that  it  215 
might  have  disturbed  the  measure  and  cadences,  and 
have  put  me  out.  They  are  the  very  words  my  dearest 
father  sang;  and  they  are  the  last.  Yet,  shame  upon 
me !  the  nurse  (the  same  who  stood  listening  near,  who 
attended  me  into  this  country)  could  remember  them  220 
more  perfectly;  it  is  from  her  I  have  learned  them  since; 
she  often  sings  them,  even  by  herself. 

s£s.  So  shall  others.  There  is  much  both  in  them 
and  in  thee  to  render  them  memorable.  .  .  .  The 
dullest  of  mortals,  seeing  and  hearing  thee,  would  never  225 
misinterpret  the  prophecy  of  the  fates.  If,  turning 
back,  I  could  overpass  the  vale  of  years,  and  could  stand 
on  the  mountain  top,  and  could  look  again  far  before 
me  at  the  bright  ascending  morn,  we  could  enjoy  the 
prospect  together;  we  would  walk  along  the  summit  230 
hand  in  hand,  O  Rhodope !  and  we  would  only  sigh  at 
last  when  we  found  ourselves  below  with  others. 

This  exquisite  prose  will  bear  the  closest  reading.     Note  its  carefully 
chosen  poetic  words,  and  its  stately  sentence-structure. 


THE  MERRY   LARK 

Charles  Kingsley 

The  merry,  merry  lark  was  up  and  singing, 

And  the  hare  was  out  and  feeding  on  the  lea, 
And  the  merry,  merry  bells  below  were  ringing, 

When  my  child's  laugh  rang  through  me.  4 

Now  the  hare  is  snared  and  dead  beside  the  snowyard, 

And  the  lark  beside  the  dreary  winter  sea, 
And  my  baby  in  his  cradle  in  the  churchyard 

Waiteth  there  until  the  bells  bring  me. 


THE  HEARTH  2$$ 

TWO    SONS1 
Robert  Buchanan 

I  have  two  sons,  wife  — 

Two,  and  yet  the  same; 
One  his  wild  way  runs,  wife, 
Bringing  us  to  shame. 
The  one  is  bearded,  sunburnt,  grim,  and  fights  across  the 
sea,  5 

The  other  is  a  little  child  who  sits  upon  your  knee. 

One  is  fierce  and  cold,  wife, 

As  the  wayward  deep; 
Him  no  arms  could  hold,  wife, 

Him  no  breast  could  keep.  10 

He  has  tried  our  hearts  for  many  a  year,  not  broken  them ; 

for  he 
Is  still  the  sinless  little  one  that  sits  upon  your  knee. 

One  may  fall  in  fight,  wife  — 

Is  he  not  our  son? 
Pray  with  all  your  might,  wife,  15 

For  the  wayward  one ; 
Pray  for  the  dark,  rough  soldier,  who  fights  across  the  sea, 
Because  you  love  the  little  shade  who  smiles  upon  your 
knee. 

One  across  the  foam,  wife, 

As  I  speak  may  fall;  20 

But  this  one  at  home,  wife, 
Cannot  die  at  all. 
They  both  are  only  one ;  and  how  thankful  should  we  be, 
We  cannot  lose  the  darling  son  who  sits  upon  your  knee ! 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  of  Little,  Brown,  &  Co. 


254  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

SOHRAB  AND   RUSTUM 

an  episode 

Matthew  Arnold 

And  the  first  gray  of  morning  filled  the  east, 

And  the  fog  rose  out  of  the  Oxus  stream. 

But  all  the  Tartar  camp  along  the  stream 

Was  hushed,  and  still  the  men  were  plunged  in  sleep; 

Sohrab  alone,  he  slept  not;  all  night  long  5 

He  had  lain  wakeful,  tossing  on  his  bed; 

But  when  the  gray  dawn  stole  into  his  tent, 

He  rose,  and  clad  himself,  and  girt  his  sword, 

And  took  his  horseman's  cloak,  and  left  his  tent, 

And  went  abroad  into  the  cold  wet  fog,  10 

Through  the  dim  camp  to  Peran-Wisa's  tent. 

Through  the  black  Tartar  tents  he  passed,  which  stood 
Clustering  like  beehives  on  the  low  flat  strand 
Of  Oxus,  where  the  summer  floods  o'erflow 
When  the  sun  melts  the  snows  in  high  Pamere;  15 

Through  the  black  tents  he  passed,  o'er  that  low  strand, 
And  to  a  hillock  came,  a  little  back 
From  the  stream's  brink  —  the  spot  where  first  a  boat, 
Crossing  the  stream  in  summer,  scrapes  the  land. 
The  men  of  former  times  had  crowned  the  top  20 

With  a  clay  fort;  but  that  was  fall'n,  and  now 
The  Tartars  built  there  Peran-Wisa's  tent, 
A  dome  of  laths,  and  o'er  it  felts  were  spread. 
And  Sohrab  came  there,  and  went  in,  and  stood 
Upon  the  thick  piled  carpets  in  the  tent,  25 

And  found  the  old  man  sleeping  on  his  bed 

II.    Wisa  —  the  i  is  pronounced  like  e. 


THE  HEARTH 


255 


Of  rugs  and  felts,  and  near  him  lay  his  arms. 

And  Peran-Wisa  heard  him,  though  the  step 

Was  dulled;  for  he  slept  light,  an  old  man's  sleep; 

And  he  rose  quickly  on  one  arm,  and  said :  —  30 

"■Who  art  thou?  for  it  is  not  yet  clear  dawn. 
Speak!  is  there  news,  or  any  night  alarm? " 

But  Sohrab  came  to  the  bedside,  and  said : 
"Thou  know'st  me,  Peran-Wisa!  it  is  I. 
The  sun  is  not  yet  risen,  and  the  foe  35 

Sleep;  but  I  sleep  not;  all  night  long  I  lie 
Tossing  and  wakeful,  and  I  come  to  thee. 
For  so  did  King  Afrasiab  bid  me  seek 
Thy  counsel,  and  to  heed  thee  as  thy  son, 
In  Samarcand,  before  the  army  marched;  40 

And  I  will  tell  thee  what  my  heart  desires. 
Thou  know'st  if,  since  from  Ader-baijan  first 
I  came  among  the  Tartars  and  bore  arms, 
I  have  still  served  Afrasiab  well,  and  shown, 
At  my  boy's  years,  the  courage  of  a  man.  45 

This  too  thou  know'st,  that  while  I  still  bear  on 
The  conquering  Tartar  ensigns  through  the  world, 
And  beat  the  Persians  back  on  every  field, 
I  seek  one  man,  one  man,  and  one  alone  — 
Rustum,  my  father;  who. I  hoped  should  greet,  50 

Should  one  day  greet,  upon  some  well-fought  field, 
His  not  unworthy,  not  inglorious  son. 
So  I  long  hoped,  but  him  I  never  find. 
Come  then,  hear  now,  and  grant  me  what  I  ask. 
Let  the  two  armies  rest  to-day;  but  I  55 

Will  challenge  forth  the  bravest  Persian  lords 
To  meet  me,  man  to  man;  if  I  prevail, 
Rustum  will  surely  hear  it;  if  I  fall  — 
Old  man,  the  dead  need  no  one,  claim  no  kin. 

42.  Ader-baijan  —  the  j  is  pronounced  like  y. 


256 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


Dim  is  the  rumor  of  a  common  fight,  60 

Where  host  meet  host,  and  many  names  are  sunk; 
But  of  a  single  combat  fame  speaks  clear." 

He  spoke;  and  Peran-Wisa  took  the  hand 
Of  the  young  man  in  his,  and  sighed,  and  said : 

"O  Sohrab,  an  unquiet  heart  is  thine!  65 

Canst  thou  not  rest  among  the  Tartar  chiefs, 
And  share  the  battle's  common  chance  with  us 
Who  love  thee,  but  must  press  forever  first, 
In  single  fight  incurring  single  risk, 

To  find  a  father  thou  hast  never  seen?  70 

That  were  far  best,  my  son,  to  stay  with  us 
Unmurmuring;  in  our  tents,  while  it  is  war, 
And  when  'tis  truce,  then  in  Afrasiab's  towns. 
But,  if  this  one  desire  indeed  rules  all, 
To  seek  out  Rustum  —  seek  him  not  through  fight !  75 

Seek  him  in  peace,  and  carry  to  his  arms, 
O  Sohrab,  carry  an  unwounded  son ! 

But  far  hence  seek  him,  for  he  is  not  here. 
For  now  it  is  not  as  when  I  was  young, 
When  Rustum  was  in  front  of  every  fray;  80 

But  now  he  keeps  apart,  and  sits  at  home, 
In  Seistan,  with  Zal,  his  father  old. 
Whether  that  his  own  mighty  strength  at  last 
Feels  the  abhorred  approaches  of  old  age, 
Or  in  some  quarrel  with  the  Persian  King.  85 

There  go !  —  thou  wilt  not  ?     Yet  my  heart  forebodes 
Danger  or  death  awaits  thee  on  this  field. 
Fain  would  I  know  thee  safe  and  well,  though  lost 
To  us ;  fain  therefore  send  thee  hence,  in  peace 
To  seek  thy  father,  not  seek  single  fights  90 

In  vain;  —  but  who  can  keep  the  lion's  cub 
From  ravening,  and  who  govern  Rustum's  son? 
Go,  I  will  grant  thee  what  thy  heart  desires." 


THE  HEARTH 


257 


So  said  he,  and  dropped  Sohrab's  hand,  and  left 
Hissed,  and  the  warm  rugs  whereon  he  lay;  95 

And  o'er  his  chilly  limbs  his  woollen  coat 
He  passed,  and  tied  his  sandals  on  his  feet, 
And  threw  a  white  cloak  round  him,  and  he  took 
In  his  right  hand  a  ruler's  staff,  no  sword; 
And  on  his  head  he  set  his  sheepskin  cap,  100 

Black,  glossy,  curled,  the  fleece  of  Kara-Kul; 
And  raised  the  curtain  of  his  tent,  and  called 
His  herald  to  his  side,  and  went  abroad. 

The  sun  by  this  had  risen,  and  cleared  the  fog 
From  the  broad  Oxus  and  the  glittering  sands.  105 

And  from  their  tents  the  Tartar  horsemen  filed 
Into  the  open  plain;  so  Haman  bade  — 
Haman,  who  next  to  Peran-Wisa  ruled 
The  host,  and  still  was  in  his  lusty  prime. 
From  their  black  tents,  long  files  of  horse,  they  streamed;  no 
As  when  some  gray  November  morn  the  files, 
In  marching  order  spread,  of  long-necked  cranes 
Stream  over  Casbin  and  the  southern  slopes 
Of  Elburz,  from  the  Aralian  estuaries, 
Or  some  frore  Caspian  reed-bed,  southward  bound  115 

For  the  warm  Persian  seaboard  —  so  they  streamed. 
The  Tartars  of  the  Oxus,  the  King's  guard, 
First,  with  black  sheepskin  caps  and  with  long  spears; 

94-103.  This  is  in  imitation  of  Homer.  111-116.  This  is  what  is  called 
an  Homeric  simile.  The  mark  of  it  is  the  poet's  drifting  away  from  the 
exact  point  of  the  comparison  to  other  details  where  the  comparison  does 
not  hold.  The  horses  were  in  files,  like  cranes ;  but  the  horses  were  not 
moving  over  Casbin,  etc.,  to  the  Persian  seaboard.  115.  frore  means 
frozen.  To  emphasize  a  description  of  cold,  Milton  uses  the  phrase  "  burned 
frore."  116-135.  This  enumeration  is  in  imitation  of  Homer.  Poetic 
enumeration  had  much  interest  to  the  old  Greek  audiences,  whose  tribes 
and  ancestors  were  included.  It  has  some  interest  for  modern  readers, 
giving  a  notion  of  vast  numbers,  and  many  incidental  touches  of  pictur- 
esqueness. 

S 


258  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Large  men,  large  steeds;  who  from  Bokhara  come 

And  Khiva,  and  ferment  the  milk  of  mares.  120 

Next,  the  more  temperate  Toorkmuns  of  the  south, 

The  Tukas,  and  the  lances  of  Salore, 

And  those  from  Attruck  and  the  Caspian  sands; 

Light  men  and  on  light  steeds,  who  only  drink 

The  acrid  milk  of  camels,  and  their  wells.  125 

And  then  a  swarm  of  wandering  horse,  who  came 

From  far,  and  a  more  doubtful  service  owned; 

The  Tartars  of  Ferghana,  from  the  banks 

Of  the  Jaxartes,  men  with  scanty  beards 

And  close-set  skullcaps;  and  those  wilder  hordes  130 

Who  roam  o'er  Kipchak  and  the  northern  waste, 

Kalmucks  and  unkempt  Kuzzaks,  tribes  who  stray 

Nearest  the  Pole,  and  wandering  Kirghizzes, 

Who  come  on  shaggy  ponies  from  Pamere; 

These  all  filed  out  from  camp  into  the  plain.  135 

And  on  the  other  side  the  Persians  formed;  — 

First  a  light  cloud  of  horse,  Tartars  they  seemed, 

The  Ilyats  of  Khorassan;  and  behind, 

The  royal  troops  of  Persia,  horse  and  foot, 

Marshalled  battalions  bright  in  burnished  steel.  140 

But  Peran-Wisa  with  his  herald  came, 

Threading  the  Tartar  squadrons  to  the  front, 

And  with  his  staff  kept  back  the  foremost  ranks. 

And  when  Ferood,  who  led  the  Persians,  saw 

That  Peran-Wisa  kept  the  Tartars  back,  145 

He  took  his  spear,  and  to  the  front  he  came, 

And  checked  his  ranks,  and  fixed  them  where  they  stood. 

And  the  old  Tartar  came  upon  the  sand 

Betwixt  the  silent  hosts,  and  spake,  and  said : 

"  Ferood,  and  ye,  Persians  and  Tartars,  hear !  1 3c 

Let  there  be  truce  between  the  hosts  to-day. 
But  choose  a  champion  from  the  Persian  lords 


THE  HEARTH 


259 


To  fight  our  champion  Sohrab,  man  to  man." 

As,  in  the  country,  on  a  morn  in  June, 
When  the  dew  glistens  on  the  pearled  ears,  155 

A  shiver  runs  through  the  deep  corn  for  joy  — 
So,  when  they  heard  what  Peran-Wisa  said, 
A  thrill  through  all  the  Tartar  squadrons  ran 
Of  pride  and  hope  for  Sohrab,  whom  they  loved. 

But  as  a  troop  of  pedlers,  from  Cabool,  160 

Cross  underneath  the  Indian  Caucasus, 
That  vast  sky-neighboring  mountain  of  milk  snow; 
Crossing  so  high,  that,  as  they  mount,  they  pass 
Long  flocks  of  travelling  birds  dead  on  the  snow, 
Choked  by  the  air,  and  scarce  can  they  themselves  165 

Slake  their  parched  throats  with  sugared  mulberries  — 
In  single  file  they  move,  and  stop  their  breath, 
For  fear  they  should  dislodge  the  o'erhanging  snows  — 
So  the  pale  Persians  held  their  breath  with  fear. 

And  to  Ferood  his  brother  chiefs  came  up  170 

To  counsel;  Gudurz  and  Zoarrah  came, 
And  Feraburz,  who  ruled  the  Persian  hosts 
Second,  and  was  the  uncle  of  the  King; 
These  came  and  counselled,  and  then  Gudurz  said : 

"  Ferood,  shame  bids  us  take  their  challenge  up,  175 

Yet  champion  have  we  none  to  match  this  youth. 
He  has  the  wild  stag's  foot,  the  lion's  heart. 
But  Rustum  came  last  night;  aloof  he  sits 
And  sullen,  and  has  pitched  his  tents  apart. 
Him  will  I  seek,  and  carry  to  his  ear  180 

The  Tartar  challenge,  and  this  young  man's  name. 
Haply  he  will  forget  his  wrath,  and  fight. 
Stand  forth  the  while,  and  take  their  challenge  up." 

160-169.  A  very  fine  Homeric  simile,  but  without  a  counterpart  in 
Homer.  166.  sugared  mulberries  of  course  does  not  mean  fresh  mul- 
berries, though  all  mulberries  are  excessively  sweet. 


26o  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

So  spake  he ;  and  Ferood  stood  forth  and  cried : 
"  Old  man,  be  it  agreed  as  thou  hast  said !  185 

Let  Sohrab  arm,  and  we  will  find  a  man." 

He  spake :  and  Peran-Wisa  turned,  and  strode 
Back  through  the  opening  squadrons  to  his  tent. 
But  through  the  anxious  Persians  Gudurz  ran, 
And  crossed  the  camp  which  lay  behind,  and  reached,     190 
Out  on  the  sands  beyond  it,  Rustum's  tents. 
Of  scarlet  cloth  they  were,  and  glittering  gay, 
Just  pitched;  the  high  pavilion  in  the  midst 
Was  Rustum's,  and  his  men  lay  camped  around. 
And  Gudurz  entered  Rustum's  tent,  and  found  195 

Rustum;  his  morning  meal  was  done,  but  still 
The  table  stood  before  him,  charged  with  food  — 
A  side  of  roasted  sheep,  and  cakes  of  bread, 
And  dark-green  melons;  and  there  Rustum  sate 
Listless,  and  held  a  falcon  on  his  wrist,  200 

And  played  with  it;  but  Gudurz  came  and  stood 
Before  him;  and  he  looked,  and  saw  him  stand, 
And  with  a  cry  sprang  up  and  dropped  the  bird, 
And  greeted  Gudurz  with  both  hands,  and  said : 

"  Welcome !  these  eyes  could  see  no  better  sight.         205 
What  news?  but  sit  down  first,  and  eat  and  drink." 

But  Gudurz  stood  in  the  tent  door,  and  said : 
"  Not  now !  a  time  will  come  to  eat  and  drink, 
But  not  to-day ;  to-day  has  other  needs. 
The  armies  are  drawn  out,  and  stand  at  gaze;  210 

For  from  the  Tartars  is  a  challenge  brought 
To  pick  a  champion  from  the  Persian  lords 
To  fight  their  champion  —  and  thou  know'st  his  name  — 
Sohrab  men  call  him,  but  his  birth  is  hid. 
O  Rustum,  like  thy  might  is  this  young  man's !  215 

He  has  the  wild  stag's  foot,  the  lion's  heart; 
And  he  is  young,  and  Iran's  chiefs  are  old, 


THE  HEARTH  26l 

Or  else  too  weak;  and  all  eyes  turn  to  thee. 
Come  down  and  help  us,  Rustum,  or  we  lose !  " 

He  spoke;  but  Rustum  answered  with  a  smile:  220 

"Go  to!  if  Iran's  chiefs  are  old,  then  I 
Am  older;  if  the  young  are  weak,  the  King 
Errs  strangely;  for  the  King,  for  Kai  Khosroo, 
Himself  is  young,  and  honors  younger  men 
And  lets  the  aged  moulder  to  their  graves.  225 

Rustum  he  loves  no  more,  but  loves  the  young  — 
The  young  may  rise  at  Sohrab's  vaunts,  not  I. 
For  what  care  I,  though  all  speak  Sohrab's  fame? 
For  would  that  I  myself  had  such  a  son, 
And  not  that  one  slight  helpless  girl  I  have  —  230 

A  son  so  famed,  so  brave,  to  send  to  war, 
And  I  to  tarry  with  the  snow-haired  Zal, 
My  father,  whom  the  robber  Afghans  vex, 
And  clip  his  borders  short,  and  drive  his  herds, 
And  he  has  none  to  guard  his  weak  old  age.  235 

There  would  I  go,  and  hang  my  armor  up, 
And  with  my  great  name  fence  that  weak  old  man, 
And  spend  the  goodly  treasures  I  have  got, 
And  rest  my  age,  and  hear  of  Sohrab's  fame, 
And  leave  to  death  the  hosts  of  thankless  kings,  240 

And    with    these    slaughterous    hands    draw    sword    no 
more." 

He  spoke,  and  smiled;  and  Gudurz  made  reply: 
"What  then,  O  Rustum,  will  men  say  to  this, 
When  Sohrab  dares  our  bravest  forth,  and  seeks 
Thee  most  of  all,  and  thou,  whom  most  he  seeks,  245 

Hidest  thy  face  ?    Take  heed  lest  men  should  say : 
'Like  some  old  miser,  Rustum  hoards  his  fame, 
And  shuns  to  peril  it  with  younger  men.'  " 

And,  greatly  moved,  then  Rustum  made  reply : 
"O  Gudurz,  wherefore  dost  thou  say  such  words?  250 


262  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Thou  knowest  better  words  than  this  to  say. 

What  is  one  more,  one  less,  obscure  or  famed, 

Valiant  or  craven,  young  or  old,  to  me  ? 

Are  not  they  mortal,  am  not  I  myself  ? 

But  who  for  men  of  naught  would  do  great  deeds?  255 

Come,  thou  shalt  see  how  Rustum  hoards  his  fame ! 

But  I  will  fight  unknown,  and  in  plain  arms; 

Let  not  men  say  of  Rustum,  he  was  matched 

In  single  fight  with  any  mortal  man." 

He    spoke,    and    frowned;    and    Gudurz    turned,    and 
ran  260 

Back  quickly  through  the  camp  in  fear  and  joy  — 
Fear  at  his  wrath,  but  joy  that  Rustum  came. 
But  Rustum  strode  to  his  tent  door,  and  called 
His  followers  in,  and  bade  them  bring  his  arms, 
And  clad  himself  in  steel;  the  arms  he  chose  265 

Were  plain,  and  on  his  shield  was  no  device, 
Only  his  helm  was  rich,  inlaid  with  gold, 
And,  from  the  fluted  spine  atop,  a  plume 
Of  horsehair  waved,  a  scarlet  horsehair  plume. 
So  armed,  he  issued  forth;  and  Ruksh,  his  horse,  270 

Followed  him  like  a  faithful  hound  at  heel  — 
Ruksh,  whose  renown  was  noised  through  all  the  earth, 
The  horse,  whom  Rustum  on  a  foray  once 
Did  in  Bokhara  by  the  river  find 

A  colt  beneath  its  dam,  and  drove  him  home,  275 

And  reared  him;  a  bright  bay,  with  lofty  crest, 
Dight  with  a  saddlecloth  of  broidered  green 
Crusted  with  gold,  and  on  the  ground  were  worked 
All  beasts  of  chase,  all  beasts  which  hunters  know. 
So  followed,  Rustum  left  his  tents,  and  crossed  280 

The  camp,  and  to  the  Persian  host  appeared. 
And  all  the  Persians  knew  him,  and  with  shouts 
Hailed;  but  the  Tartars  knew  not  who  he  was. 


THE  HEARTH 


263 


And  dear  as  the  wet  diver  to  the  eyes 

Of  his  pale  wife  who  waits  and  weeps  on  shore,  285 

By  sandy  Bahrein,  in  the  Persian  Gulf, 

Plunging  all  day  in  the  blue  waves,  at  night, 

Having  made  up  his  tale  of  precious  pearls, 

Rejoins  her  in  their  hut  upon  the  sands  — 

So  dear  to  the  pale  Persians  Rustum  came.  290 

And  Rustum  to  the  Persian  front  advanced, 
And  Sohrab  armed  in  Hainan's  tent,  and  came. 
And  as  afield  the  reapers  cut  a  swath 
Down  through  the  middle  of  a  rich  man's  corn, 
And  on  each  side  are  squares  of  standing  corn,  295 

And  in  the  midst  a  stubble,  short  and  bare  — 
So  on  each  side  were  squares  of  men,  with  spears 
Bristling,  and  in  the  midst,  the  open  sand. 
And  Rustum  came  upon  the  sand,  and  cast 
His  eyes  toward  the  Tartar  tents,  and  saw  300 

Sohrab  come  forth,  and  eyed  him  as  he  came. 

As  some  rich  woman,  on  a  winter's  morn, 
Eyes  through  her  silken  curtains  the  poor  drudge 
Who  with  numb  blackened  fingers  makes  her  fire  — 
At  cockcrow,  on  a  starlit  winter's  morn,  305 

When  the  frost  flowers  the  whitened  window-panes  — 
And  wonders  how  she  lives,  and  what  the  thoughts 
Of  that  poor  drudge  may  be;  so  Rustum  eyed 
The  unknown  adventurous  youth,  who  from  afar 
Came  seeking  Rustum,  and  defying  forth  310 

All  the  most  valiant  chiefs;  long  he  perused 

284.  The  simile  is  perhaps  suggested  by  Homer,  701-708,  where  Paris 
and  Hector  are  as  dear  to  the  eyes  of  their  despairing  comrades  as  a 
favorable  wind  to  sailors  becalmed.  286.  Bahrein  —  the  last  syllable  is 
like  rain.  288.  tale  means  reckoning.  Thus  Milton's  shepherd  "tells 
his  tale"  —  that  is,  counts  his  sheep.  Probably  the  King  James  translators 
did  not  mean  by  tale  a  "  story,"  when  they  wrote,  "  We  spend  our  days  as 
a  tale  that  is  told." 


264  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

His  spirited  air,  and  wondered  who  he  was. 

For  very  young  he  seemed,  tenderly  reared ; 

Like  some  young  cypress,  tall,  and  dark,  and  straight, 

Which  in  a  queen's  secluded  garden  throws  315 

Its  slight  dark  shadow  on  the  moonlit  turf, 

By  midnight,  to  a  bubbling  fountain's  sound  — 

So  slender  Sohrab  seemed,  so  softly  reared. 

And  a  deep  pity  entered  Rustum's  soul 

As  he  beheld  him  coming;  and  he  stood,  320 

And  beckoned  to  him  with  his  hand,  and  said : 

"  O  thou  young  man,  the  air  of  heaven  is  soft, 
And  warm,  and  pleasant;  but  the  grave  is  cold! 
Heaven's  air  is  better  than  the  cold  dead  grave. 
Behold  me !  I  am  vast,  and  clad  in  iron,  325 

And  tried;  and  I  have  stood  on  many  a  field 
Of  blood,  and  I  have  fought  with  many  a  foe  — 
Never  was  that  field  lost,  or  that  foe  saved. 
O  Sohrab,  wherefore  wilt  thou  rush  on  death? 
Be  governed !  quit  the  Tartar  host,  and  come  330 

To  Iran,  and  be  as  my  son  to  me, 
And  fight  beneath  my  banner  till  I  die ! 
There  are  no  youths  in  Iran  brave  as  thou." 

So  he  spake,  mildly;  Sohrab  heard  his  voice, 
The  mighty  voice  of  Rustum,  and  he  saw  335 

His  giant  figure  planted  on  the  sand, 
Sole,  like  some  single  tower,  which  a  chief 
Hath  builded  on  the  waste  in  former  years 
Against  the  robbers;  and  he  saw  that  head, 
Streaked  with  its  first  gray  hairs;  —  hope  filled  his  soul,  340 
And  he  ran  forward  and  embraced  his  knees, 
And  clasped  his  hand  within  his  own,  and  said : 

"Oh,  by  thy  father's  head!  by  thine  own  soul! 
Art  thou  not  Rustum?  speak!  art  thou  not  he? " 

But  Rustum  eyed  askance  the  kneeling  youth,  345 


THE  HEARTH 


265 


And  turned  away,  and  spake  to  his  own  soul : 
"Ah  me,  I  muse  what  this  young  fox  may  mean! 

False,  wily,  boastful,  are  these  Tartar  boys. 

For  if  I  now  confess  this  thing  he  asks, 

And  hide  it  not,  but  say :  '  Rustum  is  here ! '  350 

He  will  not  yield  indeed,  nor  quit  our  foes, 

But  he  will  find  some  pretext  not  to  fight, 

And  praise  my  fame,  and  proffer  courteous  gifts, 

A  belt  or  sword  perhaps,  and  go  his  way. 

And  on  a  feast-tide,  in  Afrasiab's  hall,  355 

In  Samarcand,  he  will  arise  and  cry : 

*I  challenged  once,  when  the  two  armies  camped 

Beside  the  Oxus,  all  the  Persian  lords 

To  cope  with  me  in  single  fight;  but  they 

Shrank,  only  Rustum  dared;  then  he  and  I  360 

Changed  gifts,  and  went  on  equal  terms  away.' 

So  will  he  speak,  perhaps,  while  men  applaud; 

Then  were  the  chiefs  of  Iran  shamed  through  me." 
And  then  he  turned,  and  sternly  spake  aloud : 

"  Rise !  wherefore  dost  thou  vainly  question  thus  365 

Of  Rustum  ?     I  am  here,  whom  thou  hast  called 

By  challenge  forth;  make  good  thy  vaunt,  or  yield! 

Is  it  with  Rustum  only  thou  wouldst  fight  ? 

Rash  boy,  men  look  on  Rustum' s  face  and  flee! 

For  well  I  know,  that  did  great  Rustum  stand  370 

Before  thy  face  this  day,  and  were  revealed, 

There  would  be  then  no  talk  of  fighting  more. 

But  being  what  I  am,  I  tell  thee  this  — 

Do  thou  record  it  in  thine  inmost  soul : 

Either  thou  shalt  renounce  thy  vaunt  and  yield,  375 

Or  else  thy  bones  shall  strew  this  sand,  till  winds 

Bleach  them,  or  Oxus  with  his  summer  floods, 

Oxus  in  summer  wash  them  all  away." 

He  spoke;  and  Sohrab  answered,  on  his  feet: 


266  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

"Art  thou  so  fierce?     Thou  wilt  not  fright  me  so !  380 

I  am  no  girl,  to  be  made  pale  by  words. 

Yet  this  thou  hast  said  well,  did  Rustum  stand 

Here  on  this  field,  there  were  no  fighting  then. 

But  Rustum  is  far  hence,  and  we  stand  here. 

Begin !  thou  art  more  vast,  more  dread  than  I,  385 

And  thou  art  proved,  I  know,  and  I  am  young. 

But  yet  success  sways  with  the  breath  of  heaven. 

And  though  thou  thinkest  that  thou  knowest  sure 

Thy  victory,  yet  thou  canst  not  surely  know. 

For  we  are  all,  like  swimmers  in  the  sea,  390 

Poised  on  the  top  of  a  huge  wave  of  fate, 

Which  hangs  uncertain  to  which  side  to  fall. 

And  whether  it  will  heave  us  up  to  land, 

Or  whether  it  will  roll  us  out  to  sea, 

Back  out  to  sea,  to  the  deep  waves  of  death,  395 

We  know  not,  and  no  search  will  make  us  know; 

Only  the  event  will  teach  us  in  its  hour." 

He  spoke,  and  Rustum  answered  not,  but  hurled 
His  spear;  down  from  the  shoulder,  down  it  came, 
As  on  some  partridge  in  the  corn  a  hawk,  400 

That  long  has  towered  in  the  airy  clouds, 
Drops  like  a  plummet;  Sohrab  saw  it  come, 
And  sprang  aside,  quick  as  a  flash ;  the  spear 
Hissed,  and  went  quivering  down  into  the  sand, 
Which  it  sent  flying  wide;  —  then  Sohrab  threw  405 

In  turn,  and  full  struck  Rustum's  shield;  sharp  rang, 
The  iron  plates  rang  sharp,  but  turned  the  spear. 
And  Rustum  seized  his  club,  which  none  but  he 
Could  wield ;  an  unlopped  trunk  it  was,  and  huge, 

39°-397-  This  strong  simile  of  fate  is  Arnold's  own.  Though  the 
Greeks  thought  much  on  fate,  the  Persians  thought  of  it  still  more. 
408  ff.  The  description  is  suggested  by  Homer's  description  of  Achilles' 
spear,  Iliad  19.  388  ff. 


THE  HEARTH  267 

Still  rough  —  like  those  which  men  in  treeless  plains       410 

To  build  them  boats  fish  from  the  flooded  rivers, 

Hyphasis  or  Hydaspes,  when,  high  up 

By  their  dark  springs,  the  wind  in  winter  time 

Hath  made  in  Himalayan  forests  wrack, 

And  strewn  the  channels  with  torn  boughs  —  so  huge       415 

The  club  which  Rustum  lifted  now,  and  struck 

One  stroke;  but  again  Sohrab  sprang  aside, 

Lithe  as  the  glancing  snake,  and  the  club  came 

Thundering  to  earth,  and  leapt  from  Rustum' s  hand. 

And  Rustum  followed  his  own  blow,  and  fell  420 

To  his  knees,  and  with  his  fingers  clutched  the  sand; 

And  now  might  Sohrab  have  unsheathed  his  sword, 

And  pierced  the  mighty  Rustum  while  he  lay 

Dizzy,  and  on  his  knees,  and  choked  with  sand; 

But  he  looked  on,  and  smiled,  nor  bared  his  sword,         425 

But  courteously  drew  back,  and  spoke,  and  said : 

"Thou  strik'st  too  hard!  that  club  of  thine  will  float 
Upon  the  summer  floods,  and  not  my  bones. 
But  rise,  and  be  not  wroth!  not  wroth  am  I; 
No,  when  I  see  thee,  wrath  forsakes  my  soul,  430 

Thou  say'st,  thou  art  not  Rustum;  be  it  so! 
Who  art  thou  then,  that  canst  so  touch  my  soul. 
Boy  as  I  am,  I  have  seen  battles  too  — 
Have  waded  foremost  in  their  bloody  waves, 
And  heard  their  hollow  roar  of  dying  men;  435 

But  never  was  my  heart  thus  touched  before. 
Are  they  from  Heaven,  these  softenings  of  the  heart? 
O  thou  old  warrior,  let  us  yield  to  Heaven ! 
Come,  plant  we  here  in  earth  our  angry  spears, 
And  make  a  truce,  and  sit  upon  this  sand,  440 

And  pledge  each  other  in  red  wine,  like  friends, 
And  thou  shalt  talk  to  me  of  Rustum' s  deeds. 
There  are  enough  foes  in  the  Persian  host, 


268  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Whom  I  may  meet,  and  strike,  and  feel  no  pang; 
Champions  enough  Afrasiab  has,  whom  thou  445 

May st  fight;  fight  them,  when  they  confront  thy  spear! 
But  oh,  let  there  be  peace  'twixt  thee  and  me!" 

He  ceased,  but  while  he  spake,  Rustum  had  risen, 
And  stood  erect,  trembling  with  rage;  his  club 
He  left  to  lie,  but  had  regained  his  spear,  450 

Whose  fiery  point  now  in  his  mailed  right  hand 
Blazed  bright  and  baleful,  like  that  autumn  star, 
The  baleful  sign  of  fevers;  dust  had  soiled 
His  stately  crest,  and  dimmed  his  glittering  arms. 
His  breast  heaved,  his  lips  foamed,  and  twice  his  voice  455 
Was  choked  with  rage;  at  last  these  words  broke  way: 

"  Girl !  nimble  with  thy  feet,  not  with  thy  hands ! 
Curled  minion,  dancer,  coiner  of  sweet  words ! 
Fight,  let  me  hear  thy  hateful  voice  no  more ! 
Thou  art  not  in  Afrasiab' s  gardens  now  460 

With  Tartar  girls,  with  whom  thou  art  wont  to  dance; 
But  on  the  Oxus  sands,  and  in  the  dance 
Of  battle,  and  with  me,  who  make  no  play 
Of  war;  I  fight  it  out,  and  hand  to  hand. 
Speak  not  to  me  of  truce,  and  pledge,  and  wine !  465 

Remember  all  thy  valor;  try  thy  feints 
And  cunning!  all  the  pity  I  had  is  gone; 
Because  thou  hast  shamed  me  before  both  the  hosts 
With  thy  light  skipping  tricks,  and  thy  girl's  wiles." 

He  spoke,  and  Sohrab  kindled  at  his  taunts,  470 

And  he  too  drew  his  sword;  at  once  they  rushed 
Together,  as  two  eagles  on  one  prey 

457-479-  The  fierce  heat  of  such  lines  as  these  must  not  be  over- 
looked by  those  who  think  of  Arnold  as  a  "  cold  "  poet.  472-473.  Here  is 
a  simile  taken  from  Homer,  but  it  is  not  Homeric  in  the  sense  mentioned 
above.  Neither  Homer  nor  his  modern  imitator  could  take  time  to  let  his 
mind  stray  from  the  struggle. 


THE  HEARTH  26g 

Come  rushing  down  together  from  the  clouds, 

One  from  the  east,  one  from  the  west;  their  shield. 

Dashed  with  a  clang  together,  and  a  din  475 

Rose,  such  as  that  the  sinewy  woodcutters 

Make  often  in  the  forest's  heart  at  morn, 

Of  hewing  axes,  crashing  trees  —  such  blows 

Rustum  and  Sohrab  on  each  other  hailed. 

And  you  would  say  that  sun  and  stars  took  part  480 

In  that  unnatural  conflict;  for  a  cloud 

Grew  suddenly  in  heaven,  and  darkened  the  sun 

Over  the  fighters'  heads;  and  a  wind  rose 

Under  their  feet,  and  moaning  swept  the  plain, 

And  in  a  sandy  whirlwind  wrapped  the  pair.  485 

In  gloom  they  twain  were  wrapped,  and  they  alone; 

For  both  the  on-looking  hosts  on  either  hand 

Stood  in  broad  daylight,  and  the  sky  was  pure, 

And  the  sun  sparkled  on  the  Oxus  stream. 

But  in  the  gloom  they  fought,  with  bloodshot  eyes  490 

And  laboring  breath;  first  Rustum  struck  the  shield 

Which  Sohrab  held  stiff  out;  the  steel-spiked  spear 

Rent  the  tough  plates,  but  failed  to  reach  the  skin, 

And  Rustum  plucked  it  back  with  angry  groan. 

Then  Sohrab  with  his  sword  smote  Rustum' s  helm,  495 

Nor  clove  its  steel  quite  through;  but  all  the  crest 

He  shore  away,  and  that  proud  horsehair  plume, 

Never  till  now  defiled,  sank  to  the  dust; 

And  Rustum  bowed  his  head ;  but  then  the  gloom 

Grew  blacker,  thunder  rumbled  in  the  air,  500 

And  lightnings  rent  the  cloud;  and  Ruksh,  the  horse, 

Who  stood  at  hand,  uttered  a  dreadful  cry;  — 

No  horse's  cry  was  that,  most  like  the  roar 

501.  Do  you  remember  the  terrible  cry  of  the  wolf-hunted  horses 
in  "The  Last  of  the  Mohicans,"  Chapter  VI.?  It  frightened  even 
Hawkeye. 


2^o  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Of  some  pained  desert  lion,  who  all  day 

Hath  trailed  the  hunter's  javelin  in  his  side,  505 

And  comes  at  night  to  die  upon  the  sand. 

The  two  hosts  heard  that  cry,  and  quaked  for  fear, 

And  Oxus  curdled  as  it  crossed  his  stream. 

But  Sohrab  heard,  and  quailed  not,  but  rushed  on, 

And  struck  again;  and  again  Rustum  bowed  510 

His  head;  but  this  time  all  the  blade,  like  glass, 

Sprang  in  a  thousand  shivers  on  the  helm, 

And  in  the  hand  the  hilt  remained  alone. 

Then  Rustum  raised  his  head;  his  dreadful  eyes 

Glared,  and  he  shook  on  high  his  menacing  spear,  515 

And  shouted :  "  Rustum !  "  —  Sohrab  heard  that  shout, 

And  shrank  amazed :  back  he  recoiled  one  step, 

And  scanned  with  blinking  eyes  the  advancing  form; 

And  then  he  stood  bewildered;  and  he  dropped 

His  covering  shield,  and  the  spear  pierced  his  side.        520 

He  reeled,  and,  staggering  back,  sank  to  the  ground; 

And  then  the  gloom  dispersed,  and  the  wind  fell, 

And  the  bright  sun  broke  forth,  and  melted  all 

The  cloud;  and  the  two  armies  saw  the  pair  — 

Saw  Rustum  standing,  safe  upon  his  feet,  525 

And  Sohrab,  wounded,  on  the  bloody  sand. 

Then,  with  a  bitter  smile,  Rustum  began: 
"  Sohrab,  thou  thoughtest  in  thy  mind  to  kill 
A  Persian  lord  this  day,  and  strip  his  corpse, 
And  bear  thy  trophies  to  Afrasiab's  tent;  530 

Or  else  that  the  great  Rustum  would  come  down 
Himself  to  fight,  and  that  thy  wiles  would  move 
His  heart  to  take  a  gift,  and  let  thee  go; 
And  then  that  all  the  Tartar  host  would  praise 
Thy  courage  or  thy  craft,  and  spread  thy  fame,  535 

To  glad  thy  father  in  his  weak  old  age. 
Fool,  thou  art  slain,  and  by  an  unknown  man ! 


THE  HEARTH 


271 


Dearer  to  the  red  jackals  shalt  thou  be 
Than  to  thy  friends,  and  to  thy  father  old." 

And,  with  a  fearless  mien,  Sohrab  replied :  540 

"Unknown  thou  art;  yet  thy  fierce  vaunt  is  vain. 
Thou  dost  not  slay  me,  proud  and  boastful  man! 
No !     Rustum  slays  me,  and  this  filial  heart. 
For  were  I  matched  with  ten  such  men  as  thee, 
And  I  were  that  which  till  to-day  I  was,  545 

They  should  be  lying  here,  I  standing  there. 
But  that  beloved  name  unnerved  my  arm  — 
That  name,  and  something,  I  confess,  in  thee, 
Which  troubles  all  my  heart,  and  made  my  shield 
Fall;  and  thy  spear  transfixed  an  unarmed  foe.  550 

And  now  thou  boastest,  and  insult' st  my  fate. 
But  hear  thou  this,  fierce  man,  tremble  to  hear: 
The  mighty  Rustum  shall  avenge  my  death ! 
My  father,  whom  I  seek  through  all  the  world, 
He  shall  avenge  my  death,  and  punish  thee !  "  555 

As  when  some  hunter  in  the  spring  hath  found 
A  breeding  eagle  sitting  on  her  nest, 
Upon  the  craggy  isle  of  a  hill  lake, 
And  pierced  her  with  an  arrow  as  she  rose, 
And  followed  her  to  find  her  where  she  fell  560 

Far  off;  —  anon  her  mate  comes  winging  back 
From  hunting,  and  a  great  way  off  descries 
His  huddling  young  left  sole;  at  that,  he  checks 
His  pinion,  and  with  short  uneasy  sweeps 
Circles  above  his  eyry,  with  loud  screams  565 

Chiding  his  mate  back  to  her  nest;  but  she 
Lies  dying,  with  the  arrow  in  her  side, 
In  some  far  stony  gorge  out  of  his  ken, 

556-575.  Arnold  has  not  forgotten  the  eagle  and  its  poetic  possibilities ; 
now  the  time  has  come  for  him  to  let  his  fancy  run,  and  how  good  is  the 
result!     This  simile  is  not  in  Homer. 


272  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

A  heap  of  fluttering  feathers  —  never  more 

Shall  the  lake  glass  her,  flying  over  it;  570 

Never  the  black  and  dripping  precipices 

Echo  her  stormy  scream  as  she  sails  by  — 

As  that  poor  bird  flies  home,  nor  knows  his  loss, 

So  Rustum  knew  not  his  own  loss,  but  stood 

Over  his  dying  son,  and  knew  him  not.  575 

But,  with  a  cold  incredulous  voice,  he  said : 
"What  prate  is  this  of  fathers  and  revenge? 
The  mighty  Rustum  never  had  a  son." 

And,  with  a  failing  voice,  Sohrab  replied : 
"Ah  yes,  he  had !  and  that  lost  son  am  I.  580 

Surely  the  news  will  one  day  reach  his  ear, 
Reach  Rustum,  where  he  sits,  and  tarries  long, 
Somewhere,  I  know  not  where,  but  far  from  here; 
And  pierce  him  like  a  stab,  and  make  him  leap 
To  arms,  and  cry  for  vengeance  upon  thee.  585 

Fierce  man,  bethink  thee,  for  an  only  son ! 
What  will  that  grief,  what  will  that  vengeance  be? 
Oh,  could  I  live  till  I  that  grief  had  seen ! 
Yet  him  I  pity  not  so  much,  but  her, 
My  mother,  who  in  Ader-baijan  dwells  590 

With  that  old  king,  her  father,  who  grows  gray 
With  age,  and  rules  over  the  valiant  Koords. 
Her  most  I  pity,  who  no  more  will  see 
Sohrab  returning  from  the  Tartar  camp, 
With  spoils  and  honor,  when  the  war  is  done.  595 

But  a  dark  rumor  will  be  bruited  up, 
From  tribe  to  tribe,  until  it  reach  her  ear; 
And  then  will  that  defenceless  woman  learn 
That  Sohrab  will  rejoice  her  sight  no  more, 
But  that  in  battle  with  a  nameless  foe,  600 

By  the  far-distant  Oxus,  he  is  slain." 

He  spoke;  and  as  he  ceased,  he  wept  aloud, 


THE  HEARTH 


273 


Thinking  of  her  he  left,  and  his  own  death. 

He  spoke;  but  Rustum  listened,  plunged  in  thought. 

Nor  did  he  yet  believe  it  was  his  son  605 

Who  spoke,  although  he  called  back  names  he  knew; 

For  he  had  had  sure  tidings  that  the  babe, 

Which  was  in  Ader-baijan  born  to  him, 

Had  been  a  puny  girl,  no  boy  at  all  — 

So  that  sad  mother  sent  him  word,  for  fear  610 

Rustum  should  seek  the  boy,  to  train  in  arms. 

And  so  he  deemed  that  either  Sohrab  took, 

By  a  false  boast,  the  style  of  Rustum 's  son; 

Or  that  men  gave  it  him,  to  swell  his  fame. 

So  deemed  he :  yet  he  listened,  plunged  in  thought;       615 

And  his  soul  set  to  grief,  as  the  vast  tide 

Of  the  bright  rocking  Ocean  sets  to  shore 

At  the  full  moon;  tears  gathered  in  his  eyes; 

For  he  remembered  his  own  early  youth, 

And  all  its  bounding  rapture;  as,  at  dawn,  620 

The  shepherd  from  his  mountain  lodge  descries 

A  far,  bright  city,  smitten  by  the  sun, 

Through  many  rolling  clouds  —  so  Rustum  saw 

His  youth;  saw  Sohrab's  mother,  in  her  bloom; 

And  that  old  king,  her  father,  who  loved  well  625 

His  wandering  guest,  and  gave  him  his  fair  child 

With  joy;  and  all  the  pleasant  life  they  led, 

They  three,  in  that  long-distant  summer  time  — 

The  castle,  and  the  dewy  woods,  and  hunt 

And  hound,  and  morn  on  those  delightful  hills  630 

In  Ader-baijan.     And  he  saw  that  youth, 

Of  age  and  looks  to  be  his  own  dear  son, 

Piteous  and  lovely,  lying  on  the  sand, 


620-624.  The  tone  of  this  exquisite  simile  is  more  modern  than  Homer 
and  yet  is  antique  in  its  bright  simplicity. 
T 


274 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


Like  some  rich  hyacinth  which  by  the  scythe 

Of  an  unskilful  gardener  has  been  cut,  635 

Mowing  the  garden  grassplots  near  its  bed, 

And  lies,  a  fragrant  tower  of  purple  bloom, 

On  the  mown,  dying  grass  —  so  Sohrab  lay, 

Lovely  in  death,  upon  the  common  sand. 

And  Rustum  gazed  on  him  with  grief,  and  said :  640 

"  O  Sohrab,  thou  indeed  art  such  a  son 
Whom  Rustum,  wert  thou  his,  might  well  have  loved ! 
Yet  here  thou  errest,  Sohrab,  or  else  men 
Have  told  thee  false  —  thou  art  not  Rustum's  son. 
For  Rustum  had  no  son;  one  child  he  had —  645 

But  one  —  a  girl;  who  with  her  mother  now 
Plies  some  light  female  task,  nor  dreams  of  us  — 
Of  us  she  dreams  not,  nor  of  wounds,  nor  war." 

But  Sohrab  answered  him  in  wrath;  for  now 
The  anguish  of  the  deep-fixed  spear  grew  fierce,  650 

And  he  desired  to  draw  forth  the  steel, 
And  let  the  blood  flow  free,  and  so  to  die  — 
But  first  he  would  convince  his  stubborn  foe; 
And,  rising  sternly  on  one  arm,  he  said : 

"Man,  who  art  thou  who  dost  deny  my  words?  655 

Truth  sits  upon  the  lips  of  dying  men, 
And  falsehood,  while  I  lived,  was  far  from  mine. 
I  tell  thee,  pricked  upon  this  arm  I  bear 
The  seal  which  Rustum  to  my  mother  gave, 
That  she  might  prick  it  on  the  babe  she  bore."  660 

He  spoke;  and  all  the  blood  left  Rustum's  cheeks, 
And  his  knees  tottered,  and  he  smote  his  hand 
Against  his  breast,  his  heavy  mailed  hand, 

634-639.  Homer  likens  a  slain  youth  to  a  drooping  poppy,  but  he  would 
have  thought  it  fanciful  and  over-elaborate  to  call  a  hyacinth  "  a  tower  of 
purple  bloom."  How  good  "common  sand"  is,  contrasted  with  the  deli- 
cate fairness  of  the  dead  boy! 


THE  HEARTH 


2/5 


That  the  hard  iron  corselet  clanked  aloud; 

And  to  his  heart  he  pressed  the  other  hand,  665 

And  in  a  hollow  voice  he  spake,  and  said : 

"Sohrab,  that  were  a  proof  which  could  not  lie! 
If  thou  show  this,  then  art  thou  Rustum's  son." 

Then,  with  weak  hasty  fingers,  Sohrab  loosed 
His  belt,  and  near  the  shoulder  bared  his  arm,  670 

And  showed  a  sign  in  faint  vermilion  points 
Pricked;  as  a  cunning  workman,  in  Pekin, 
Pricks  with  vermilion  some  clear  porcelain  vase, 
An  emperor's  gift  —  at  early  morn  he  paints, 
And  all  day  long,  and,  when  night  comes,  the  lamp         675 
Lights  up  his  studious  forehead  and  thin  hands  — 
So  delicately  pricked  the  sign  appeared 
On  Sohrab's  arm,  the  sign  of  Rustum's  seal. 
It  was  that  griffin,  which  of  old  reared  Zal, 
Rustum's  great  father,  whom  they  left  to  die,  680 

A  helpless  babe,  among  the  mountain  rocks; 
Him  that  kind  creature  found  and  reared,  and  loved  — 
Then  Rustum  took  it  for  his  glorious  sign. 
And  Sohrab  bared  that  image  on  his  arm, 
And  himself  scanned  it  long  with  mournful  eyes,  685 

And  then  he  touched  it  with  his  hand,  and  said: 

"How  say'st  thou?     Is  that  sign  the  proper  sign 
Of  Rustum's  son,  or  of  some  other  man's?  " 

He  spoke;  but  Rustum  gazed,  and  gazed,  and  stood 
Speechless;  and  then  he  uttered  one  sharp  cry:  690 

"  O  boy  —  thy  father !  "  —  and  his  voice  choked  there. 
And  then  a  dark  cloud  passed  before  his  eyes, 
And  his  head  swam,  and  he  sank  down  to  earth. 
But  Sohrab  crawled  to  where  he  lay,  and  cast 

669-678.  This  lovely  simile  has  a  phrase  or  two  from  Homer,  and  is 
Homeric  in  its  straying  from  the  point;  but  the  beautiful  conception  is 
Arnold's  own. 


276 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


His  arms  about  his  neck,  and  kissed  his  lips,  695 

And  with  fond  faltering  fingers  stroked  his  cheeks, 
Trying  to  call  him  back  to  life;  and  life 
Came  back  to  Rustum,  and  he  oped  his  eyes, 
And  they  stood  wide  with  horror;  and  he  seized 
In  both  his  hands  the  dust  which  lay  around,  700 

And  threw  it  on  his  head,  and  smirched  his  hair,  — 
His  hair,  and  face,  and  beard,  and  glittering  arms; 
And  strong  convulsive  groanings  shook  his  breast, 
And  his  sobs  choked  him;  and  he  clutched  his  sword, 
To  draw  it,  and  forever  let  life  out.  705 

But  Sohrab  saw  his  thought,  and  held  his  hands, 
And  with  a  soothing  voice  he  spake,  and  said : 

"  Father,  forbear !  for  I  but  meet  to-day 
The  doom  which  at  my  birth  was  written  down 
In  heaven,  and  thou  art  heaven's  unconscious  hand.        710 
Surely  my  heart  cried  out  that  it  was  thou, 
When  first  I  saw  thee;  and  thy  heart  spoke  too, 
I  know  it !  but  fate  trod  those  promptings  down 
Under  its  iron  heel;  fate,  fate  engaged 
The  strife,  and  hurled  me  on  my  father's  spear.  715 

But  let  us  speak  no  more  of  this !     I  find 
My  father;  let  me  feel  that  I  have  found! 
Come,  sit  beside  me  on  this  sand,  and  take 
My  head  betwixt  thy  hands,  and  kiss  my  cheeks, 
And  wash  them  with  thy  tears,  and  say:  'My  son! '  720 

Quick !  quick !  for  numbered  are  my  sands  of  life, 
And  swift;  for  like  the  lightning  to  this  field 
I  came,  and  like  the  wind  I  go  away  — 
Sudden,  and  swift,  and  like  a  passing  wind. 
But  it  was  writ  in  heaven  that  this  should  be."  725 

So  said  he,  and  his  voice  released  the  heart 
Of  Rustum,  and  his  tears  broke  forth;  he  cast 
His  arms  round  his  son's  neck,  and  wept  aloud, 


THE  HEARTH  2yy 

And  kissed  him.     And  awe  fell  on  both  the  hosts, 

When  they  saw  Rustum's  grief;  and  Ruksh,  the  horse,    730 

With  his  head  bowing  to  the  ground  and  mane 

Sweeping  the  dust,  came  near,  and  in  mute  woe 

First  to  the  one  then  to  the  other  moved 

His  head,  as  if  inquiring  what  their  grief 

Might  mean;  and  from  his  dark,  compassionate  eyes,      735 

The  big  warm  tears  rolled  down,  and  caked  the  sand. 

But  Rustum  chid  him  with  stern  voice,  and  said : 

"Ruksh,  now  thou  grievest;  but,  O  Ruksh,  thy  feet    » 
Should  first  have  rotted  on  their  nimble  joints, 
Or  ere  they  brought  thy  master  to  this  field !  "  740 

But  Sohrab  looked  upon  the  horse,  and  said : 
"Is  this,  then,  Ruksh?     How  often,  in  past  days, 
My  mother  told  me  of  thee,  thou  brave  steed, 
My  terrible  father's  terrible  horse!  and  said, 
That  I  should  one  day  find  thy  lord  and  thee.  745 

Come,  let  me  lay  my  hand  upon  thy  mane ! 
O  Ruksh,  thou  art  more  fortunate  than  I ; 
For  thou  hast  gone  where  I  shall  never  go, 
And  snuffed  the  breezes  of  my  father's  home. 
And  thou  hast  trod  the  sands  of  Seistan,  750 

And  seen  the  River  of  Helmund,  and  the  Lake 
Of  Zirrah;  and  the  aged  Zal  himself 
Has  often  stroked  thy  neck,  and  given  thee  food, 
Corn  in  a  golden  platter,  soaked  with  wine, 
And  said:  'O  Ruksh!  bear  Rustum  well,'  — but  I  755 

Have  never  known  my  grandsire's  furrowed  face, 
Nor  seen  his  lofty  house  in  Seistan, 
Nor  slaked  my  thirst  at  the  clear  Helmund  stream; 
But  lodged  among  my  father's  foes,  and  seen 
Afrasiab's  cities  only,  Samarcand,  760 

Bokhara,  and  lone  Khiva  in  the  waste, 
And  the  black  Toorkmun  tents;  and  only  drunk 


2^g  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

The  desert  rivers,  Moorghab  and  Tejend, 

Kohik,  and  where  the  Kalmuks  feed  their  sheep, 

The  northern  Sir ;  and  this  great  Oxus  stream,  765 

The  yellow  Oxus,  by  whose  brink  I  die." 

Then,  with  a  heavy  groan,  Rustum  bewailed : 
"Oh,  that  its  waves  were  flowing  over  me! 
Oh,  that  I  saw  its  grains  of  yellow  silt 
Roll  tumbling  in  the  current  o'er  my  head !  "  770 

But,  with  a  grave  mild  voice,  Sohrab  replied : 
"  Desire  not  that,  my  father !  thou  must  live. 
For  some  are  born  to  do  great  deeds,  and  live, 
As  some  are  born  to  be  obscured,  and  die. 
Do  thou  the  deeds  I  die  too  young  to  do,  775 

And  reap  a  second  glory  in  thine  age; 
Thou  art  my  father,  and  thy  gain  is  mine. 
But  come !  thou  seest  this  great  host  of  men 
Which  follow  me;  I  pray  thee,  slay  not  these! 
Let  me  entreat  for  them;  what  have  they  done?  780 

They  followed  me,  my  hope,  my  fame,  my  star. 
Let  them  all  cross  the  Oxus  back  in  peace. 
But  me  thou  must  bear  hence,  not  send  with  them, 
But  carry  me  with  thee  to  Seistan, 

And  place  me  on  a  bed,  and  mourn  for  me,  785 

Thou,  and  the  snow-haired  Zal,  and  all  thy  friends. 
And  thou  must  lay  me  in  that  lovely  earth, 
And  heap  a  stately  mound  above  my  bones, 
And  plant  a  far-seen  pillar  over  all. 

That  so  the  passing  horseman  on  the  waste  790 

May  see  my  tomb  a  great  way  off,  and  cry : 
'Sohrab,  the  mighty  Rustum' s  son,  lies  there, 
Whom  his  great  father  did  in  ignorance  kill ! ' 
And  I  be  not  forgotten  in  my  grave." 

And,  with  a  mournful  voice,  Rustum  replied :  795 

"  Fear  not !  as  thou  hast  said,  Sohrab,  my  son, 


THE  HEARTH 


279 


So  shall  it  be;  for  I  will  burn  my  tents, 

And  quit  the  host,  and  bear  thee  hence  with  me, 

And  carry  thee  away  to  Seistan, 

And  place  thee  on  a  bed,  and  mourn  for  thee,  800 

With  the  snow-headed  Zal,  and  all  my  friends. 

And  I  will  lay  thee  in  that  lovely  earth, 

And  heap  a  stately  mound  above  thy  bones, 

And  plant  a  far-seen  pillar  over  all, 

And  men  shall  not  forget  thee  in  thy  grave.  805 

And  I  will  spare  thy  host;  yea,  let  them  go! 

Let  them  all  cross  the  Oxus  back  in  peace ! 

What  should  I  do  with  slaying  any  more  ? 

For  would  that  all  that  I  have  ever  slain 

Might  be  once  more  alive;  my  bitterest  foes,  810 

And  they  who  were  called  champions  in  their  time, 

And  through  whose  death  I  won  that  fame  I  have  — 

And  I  were  nothing  but  a  common  man, 

A  poor,  mean  soldier,  and  without  renown, 

So  thou  mightest  live  too,  my  son,  my  son !  815 

Or  rather  would  that  I,  even  I  myself, 

Might  now  be  lying  on  this  bloody  sand, 

Near  death,  and  by  an  ignorant  stroke  of  thine, 

Not  thou  of  mine!  and  I  might  die,  not  thou; 

And  I,  not  thou,  be  borne  to  Seistan;  820 

And  Zal  might  weep  above  my  grave,  not  thine ; 

And  say :  '  O  son,  I  weep  thee  not  too  sore, 

For  willingly,  I  know,  thou  met'st  thine  end! ' 

But  now  in  blood  and  battles  was  my  youth, 

And  full  of  blood  and  battles  is  my  age,  825 

And  I  shall  never  end  this  life  of  blood." 

Then,  at  the  point  of  death,  Sohrab  replied : 
"  A  life  of  blood  indeed,  thou  dreadful  man ! 
But  thou  shalt  yet  have  peace;  only  not  now, 
Not  yet !  but  thou  shalt  have  it  on  that  day  830 


28o  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

When  thou  shalt  sail  in  a  high-masted  ship, 
Thou  and  the  other  peers  of  Kai  Khosroo, 
Returning  home  over  the  salt  blue  sea, 
From  laying  thy  dear  master  in  his  grave." 

And  Rustum  gazed  in  Sohrab's  face,  and  said:  835 

"  Soon  be  that  day,  my  son,  and  deep  that  sea ! 
Till  then,  if  fate  so  wills,  let  me  endure." 

He  spoke;  and  Sohrab  smiled  on  him,  and  took 
The  spear,  and  drew  it  from  his  side,  and  eased 
His  wound's  imperious  anguish;  but  the  blood  840 

Came  welling  from  the  open  gash,  and  life 
Flowed   with    the    stream;  —  all    down    his    cold    white 

side 
The  crimson  torrent*  ran,  dim  now  and  soiled, 
Like  the  soiled  tissue  of  white  violets 
Left,  freshly  gathered,  on  their  native  bank,  845 

By  children  whom  their  nurses  call  with  haste 
Indoors  from  the  sun's  eye;  his  head  drooped  low, 
His  limbs  grew  slack;  motionless,  white,  he  lay  — 
White,  with  eyes  closed;  only  when  heavy  gasps, 
Deep  heavy  gasps  quivering  through  all  his  frame,  850 

Convulsed  him  back  to  life,  he  opened  them, 
And  fixed  them  feebly  on  his  father's  face; 
Till  now  all  strength  was  ebbed,  and  from  his  limbs 
Unwillingly  the  spirit  fled  away, 

Regretting  the  warm  mansion  which  it  left,  855 

And  youth,  and  bloom,  and  this  delightful  world. 

So,  on  the  bloody  sand,  Sohrab  lay  dead; 
And  the  great  Rustum  drew  his  horseman's  cloak 
Down  o'er  his  face,  and  sate  by  his  dead  son. 
As  those  black  granite  pillars,  once  high-reared  860 

By  Jemshid  in  Persepolis,  to  bear 
His  house,  now  'mid  their  broken  flight  of  steps 
Lie  prone,  enormous,  down  the  mountain  side — 


THE  HEARTH  28l 

So  in  the  sand  lay  Rustum  by  his  son. 

And  night  came  down  over  the  solemn  waste,  865 

And  the  two  gazing  hosts,  and  that  sole  pair, 
And  darkened  all;  and  a  cold  fog,  with  night, 
Crept  from  the  Oxus.     Soon  a  hum  arose, 
As  of  a  great  assembly  loosed,  and  fires 
Began  to  twinkle  through  the  fog;  for  now  870 

Both  armies  moved  to  camp,  and  took  their  meal; 
The  Persians  took  it  on  the  open  sands 
Southward,  the  Tartars  by  the  river  marge; 
And  Rustum  and  his  son  were  left  alone. 

But  the  majestic  river  floated  on,  875 

Out  of  the  mist  and  hum  of  that  low  land, 
Into  the  frosty  starlight,  and  there  moved, 
Rejoicing,  through  the  hushed  Chorasmian  waste, 
Under  the  solitary  moon;  —  he  flowed 
Right  for  the  polar  star,  past  Orgunj£,  880 

Brimming,  and  bright,  and  large;  then  sands  begin 
To  hem  his  watery  march,  and  dam  his  streams, 
And  split  his  currents;  that  for  many  a  league 
The  shorn  and  parcelled  Oxus  strains  along 
Through  beds  of  sand  and  matted  rushy  isles  —  885 

Oxus,  forgetting  the  bright  speed  he  had 
In  his  high  mountain  cradle  in  Pamere, 
A  foiled  circuitous  wanderer  —  till  at  last 
The  longed-for  dash  of  waves  is  heard,  and  wide 
His  luminous  home  of  waters  opens,  bright  890 

And  tranquil,  from  whose  floor  the  new-bathed  stars 
Emerge,  and  shine  upon  the  Aral  Sea. 

875-892-  It  is  not  fanciful  to  say  that  this  superb  passage  is  an  allegory 
of  human  life.  It  is  pure  allegory,  not  mixed ;  that  is,  no  definite  word, 
like  life,  gives  us  the  clue.  Is  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  a  pure  allegory,  or 
mixed? 

Has  the  poem  high  seriousness  ?  Is  it  musical  ?  Is  it  strong  in  emo- 
tional power  ?  in  description  ?  in  dramatic  climax  ? 


282  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Plan  of  Summary. — Reviewing  the  chapter,  (i)  enumerate  the 
kinds  of  metre,  designating  them  by  the  number  of  accents  and  by  the 
predominant  foot.  Then  (2)  say  which  poem  is  most  noticeable  for  mel- 
ody; (3)  which  for  beauty  of  suggested  sights;  (4)  which  for  pleasure 
of  suggested  sounds;  (5)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  activity; 
(6)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  odors  or  tastes;  (7)  which  is 
most  easily  understood;  (8)  which  moves  the  reader  most  deeply; 
(9)  which  shows  most  skill  in  character  drawing;  (10)  which  has  the 
best  unity;  (11)  which,  your  critical  judgment  tells  you,  is  the  best 
piece  of  work;  (12)  which  you  like  the  best,  —  without  regard  to  its 
deserved  rank,  or  its  fame. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   MORNING   LANDSCAPE 

The  outdoor  world  is  man's  strength,  medicine,  delight. 
It  seems  to  him  most  beautiful  when  it  interprets  for  him 
his  happiest  feelings  —  as  we  gather  from  Thomas  Ashe's 
poem   called   Sympathy.     When   he    feels  jolly   all   things   Sympathy, 
seem  jolly  ;  p- 293' 

The  sun  dances  up  in  the  sky, 

The  moon  dances  down  in  the  dews. 

When  he  feels  sad,  nature  seems  sad  also.     To  the  poet 

the  sea-wind  yesterday  suggested  liberty ;  to-day  it  sounds  Watson's 

like  a  fettered  soul  trying  to  speak.     Doubtless  it  would  be   Changed 

better  for  man  to  study  nature  for  its  own  sake,  and  learn  p.  294. 

what  it  has  to  say  to  him ;  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  man's 

view  of  nature  is  deeply  colored  by  his  own  moods. 

The  outdoor  world  engages  all  human  beings.  It  satis- 
fies the  curiosity  of  the  child,  whose  business  it  is  to  get 
acquainted  with  the  wonderful  place  in  which  he  finds  him- 
self. All  animals  interest  him,  for  he  must  learn  which  are 
naturally  his  friends  and  comrades,  which  his  enemies.  All 
physical  laws  interest  him,  for  nature  must  teach  him  that 
some  things  are  heavy,  others  light ;  some  dull,  others  sharp  ; 
some  cold,  others  hot ;  some  poisonous,  others  wholesome. 
If  he  does  not  learn  these  laws,  he  will  be,  as  Professor  Hux- 
ley puts  it,  "  untimely  ended." 

Nature  is  the  place  to  which  the  grown  man  looks  for 
rest  and  calm  after  the  struggles  of  the  city.  He  slips  into 
the  woods  to  be  quieted  in  soul.    He  goes  up  into  the  moun- 

283 


284  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

tain  to  seek  serenity,  for  here  he  looks  down  upon  the  war- 
ring world  and  sees  that  after  all  it  is  not  to  be  taken  too 
seriously.  The  mountain  teaches  him  firmness  and  faith. 
And  when  the  stars  come  out,  the  man  that  yesterday  tired 
his  eyes  over  a  ledger  now  soothes  them  with  gazing  into 
infinite  miles  of  rest. 

Midway  between  childhood  and  manhood  is  youth,  and 
early  youth  is  the  age  which  loves  nature  in  her  fresh  and 
happy  moods.  Since  the  world  is  freshest  and  happiest  in 
the  morning,  we  may  speak  in  this  chapter  of  nature's  cheer- 
ful phases  under  the  head  of  the  "  Morning  Landscape."  For 
the  morning  landscape  is  full  of  exhilaration,  and  cries  out 
with  the  joy  of  activity.  "The  sun  cometh  forth  from  his 
chamber,  and  rejoiceth  as  a  strong  man  to  run  a  race." 
This  is  the  time  of  day  when  hard  tasks  are  play.  Every 
breath  seems  to  reach  the  finger-tips.  Flowers  have  no 
heavy  sweetness  like  that  of  house-blown  roses  in  a  room ; 
they  are  aromatic  now.  It  is  the  hour  of  daffodil  and  brier- 
rose  and  clover-dew.  The  streams  are  not  sluggish  and 
lazy,  for  the  slowest  is  alive  with  sun.  Let  us  review  the 
morning  moods  of  the  year. 

As  youth  is  the  morning  of  life,  so,  said  the  Greek,  is 
springtime  the  youth  of  the  year.  The  farther  south  we 
go,  the  earlier  this  youth  begins.  In  Italy  it  is  spring  in 
Pippa  January.     Browning's  little  heroine,  Pippa,  is  a  factory  girl, 

who  has  but  one  holiday  in  the  year,  and  that  is  New  Year's. 
She  leaps  from  her  bed  determined  to  make  the  most  of  the 
time.  Wherever  she  goes  she  sings  merrily,  and  her  songs 
are  overheard  by  others,  and  quite  unknown  to  Pippa  they 
save  many  a  life  from  its  evil  instincts.  The  first  song  that 
she  carols  captures  in  eight  lines  the  whole  springtime. 

In  England  in  January  there  are  no  larks  in  the  heaven 
nor  snails  on.  the  thorn ;  but  a  little  later  there  is  green  in 
the   mountains.      Among   the  Westmoreland   hills  Words- 


Passes, 
p-  295 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE 


285 


worth  wrote  his  stanzas  on  March.      No  flowers  yet,  but   March, 
sunny  grass  in  the  field.     Cattle  are  grazing  —  forty  feeding  p*  29S* 
like  one  —  and  everybody  is  at  work,  from  the  baby  to  the 
grandsire. 

Presently,  both  in  England  and  America,  the  crocus 
appears.  Mr.  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich,  in  a  graceful  sonnet, 
has  found  words  for  the  feeling  of  surprise  and  joy  that 
springs  up  at  sight  of  the  first  crocus.  He  likens  himself 
to  Crusoe  discovering  the  footprints  in  the  sand.  In  the 
mother  country  the  crocus  blooms  in  far  greater  profusion 
than  in  America.  Tennyson,  remembering  the  look  of 
these  delicate  blossoms  that  mantle  the  greensward,  wrote 
one  of  the  finest  similes  in  English  :  — 

And  at  her  feet  the  crocus  brake  like  fire ! 1 

Before  March  is  over  in  England  the  daffodils  arrive; 
not  in  patches  beside  the  door,  but  in  the  fields  by  the 
thousand.     Shakspere  calls  them 

Daffodils 
That  come  before  the  swallows  dare,  and  take 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty. 

It  was  on  one  of  his  long  Westmoreland  walks  that,  "  wan- 
dering lonely  as  a  cloud,"  Wordsworth  saw  a  host  of  these   1  wandered 
golden  flowers,  beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees.     A  very   t°nely  as  a 
simple  matter,  surely ;  yet  Wordsworth  received  such  delight  p.  296. 
from  that  glance  that  those  daffodils  have  become  a  posses- 
sion of  thousands.      They  gladdened    the  poet  still  more 
when  his  memory  ran  back  to  them  as  he  lay  within  doors. 
The  dweller  in  cities  understands  what  this   means,  as  he 
thinks  back  on  his  summer  vacation. 

The  first  poet  to  praise  an  American  flower  was  Bryant,   The  Yellow 
in  his   musical  lines  on  the   Yellow  Violet.     This   hardiest  Vlolet- 


p.  297. 


1  From  (Enone,  describing  the  goddess  Venus.     Flowers  were  fabled  to 
spring  up  sometimes  where  a  goddess  trod. 


286 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


The  Rho- 
dora, 
p.  298. 


Warble  for 
Lilac- 
Time, 
p.  299. 


The  Crow, 
P-300- 


little  blossom  of  its  family  appears  in  April,  on  the  very  edge 
of  the  lingering  snowbank.  Bryant  cannot  help  moralizing 
(to  himself)  about  it.  He  is  ashamed  that  in  May  he  should 
forget  the  flower  he  welcomed  so  joyfully  a  month  before. 

Less  musical  than  Bryant's  song  about  the  violet,  but 
more  profound,  are  Emerson's  lines  on  the  Rhodora.  Some 
one  had  asked  him  "whence  is  the  flower,"  and  the  wise 
poet  answered  that  "  if  eyes  were  made  for  seeing,  then 
beauty  is  it  own  excuse  for  being."  No  one  knows  why 
or  how  Heaven  made  the  rhodora.  It  exists,  and  it  is 
beautiful  to  look  upon. 

Walt  Whitman,  whom  some  critics  think  a  true  maker  of 
poetry  and  others  think  merely  a  gatherer  of  poetic  material, 
has  a  spring  poem  of  reminiscence.  He  calls  it  Warble  for 
Lilac-Time.  He  details  his  memories  of  spring,  —  the  crisp 
February  days,  the  sugar- making,  the  vapors,  the  haze,  the 
sound  of  frogs  and  birds,  the  melted  snow,  the  yellow-green 
willow  sprouts,  then  the  flowers  of  April  and  May,  —  till  he 
makes  those  jocund  days  live  again.  To  remember  just 
what  spring  was  like,  most  people  have  to  await  its  return. 
Not  so  Walt  Whitman. 

One  bird,  familiar  alike  to  the  American  and  the  English 
spring,  even  Whitman  does  not  mention,  fond  as  he  is  of  the 
grotesque.  The  crow  has  been  sung  but  little,  but  he  would 
be  greatly  missed  if  he  appeared  no  more  in  the  morning 
landscape.  Mr.  Canton  pictures  him  as  an  old  ungodly 
rogue,  whose  feathers,  torn  by  shot,  show  black  against  the 
blue  sky.  He  wears  funereal  garb,  but  he  grins  behind  it. 
Suspicious  that  the  frost  is  not  yet  gone,  and  still  more  sus- 
picious of  his  enemy  the  farmer,  the  crow  perches  alert  on 
the  tip  of  an  ash  tree.  As  his  rakish  eye  looks  round,  he 
drinks  in  the  glad  morning's  sun  and  air. 

In  the  spring  morning  landscape  of  England  the  lark  plays 
a  real  part.     We  have  no  skylark  in  America,  but  we  are  so 


Hark! 
the  Lark ! 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE  287 

familiar  with  the  bird  in  poetry  that  it  seems  like  one  of  our 

own  possessions.     Still,  he  who  hears  it  for  the  first  time  in 

the  English  sky  has  a  new  experience.     He  looks  aloft,  but 

it  is  poised  invisible  in  upper  air.     In  Shakspere's  phrase,   Hark, 

the  lark  is  singing  at  heaven's  gates. 

This  is  the  moment  when  the  earliest  sunshine  creeps  p.  301. 

through  the  lattice,  plays  upon  the  wall,  and  wakens  the 

sleeper.     He  turns  upon  his  side,  and  watches  the  light  in 

its  lambent  beauty.    This  glory,  that  every  morning  comes 

stealing  back,  and  that  on  every  delicate  morning  seems 

almost  divine,  is  the  theme  of  Tennyson-Turner's  sonnet, 

The  Lattice  at  Sunrise.     Mr.  Norman  Gale  thinks  of  the  The  Lattice 

same  moment  as  that  when  God  returns  from  his  other  cares  at  Sunnse> 

p.  302. 

to  look  at  the  world ;  it  is  the  light  of  his  countenance  that   Dawn  and 
we  see.     Longfellow,  in  one  of  his  boyish  poems,  finds  in   Dark, 
the  spring  sunrise  on  the  hills  the  perfect  look  of  joy,  un-  p*  3°2- 

, .  ,  ,  Sunrise  on 

dimmed  by  tears.  the  Hills> 

With  spring  come  the  showers,  and  with  these  the  rain-  p.  3°3- 

bow.     To  Wordsworth,  perhaps  the  greatest  poet  of  nature,  My  Heart 

the  rainbow  always  gave  a  thrill  at  the  heart.     In  his  poem  leaPs  JP 

he  declares  that  he  feels  the  pleasure  as  keenly  in  manhood  Behold, 

as  he  did  in  childhood.     He  wishes  that  the  day  may  never  P-  3°4- 
come  when  he  shall  cease  to  be  stirred  in  the  same  way ; 
that  the  best  joys  of  his  boyhood  may  last  into  manhood  j 
that,   so   to   speak,   the   child   may  be   the   father  of  the 
man. 

The  early  summer  comes,  with  what  Lowell  calls  "  the  per-  Twas  One 

feet  days,"  and  Emerson  calls  "  the  charmed  days."    Bryant,  °f  the 

in  a  poem  on  June,  enters  into  the  spirit  of  this  weather,  but  Days, 

not  with  such  jubilance  as  Lowell  does  in  his  praise  of  June,  P-  3°5- 

at  the  opening  of  Sir  Launfal.     Bryant  hoped  that  his  time  June, 

to  die  might  be  in  this  month  of  months.     It  is  interesting  p'  3°5' 
to  know  that  his  wish  was  granted.     In  June  of  1878  it 
could  at  last  be  said  of  him,  — 


288  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

His  part  in  all  the  pomp  that  fills 
The  circuit  of  the  summer  hills, 
Is  —  that  his  grave  is  green. 

Intrinsically  the  dandelion  is  a  very  beautiful  blossom,  and 
To  the  if  rare  would  be  costly.  Lowell's  Dandelion  is  the  flower  of 
Dandelion,  everybody.  Lowell  reads  everything  lovely  into  it,  says  it 
stands  to  him  for  the  warm  land  of  flowers,  calls  it  his 
tropics  and  his  Italy.  He  delights  beyond  expression  to 
find  the  first  blooms.  They  remind  him  of  the  beauty  that 
might  be  lighted  on  in  the  natures  of  ordinary  people,  if  it 
were  looked  for. 

Emerson  is  another  poet  who,  forsaking  the  rose  and  the 
nightingale,  sings  of  commoner  flowers  and  birds.  Note 
some  of  his  flowers,  page  311.  Of  the  birds,  he  likes  best 
the  chickadee,  the  snow-bird. 

Here  was  this  atom  in  full  breath, 
Hurling  defiance  at  vast  death. 


Bee,  p.  309. 


The  It  remained  for  Emerson  to  celebrate  the  bumblebee, 

Humble-  which  gets  back  from  him  its  proper  but  less  descriptive 
name,  The  Humble-Bee.  Emerson  dubs  him  a  philosopher, 
because,  though  burly  and  dozing,  he  knows  enough  to  sip 
only  what  is  sweet.  Clean  and  savory  flowers  furnish 
forth  his  meal,  and  nothing  else  does  he  regard  —  all  else 
was  picture  as  he  passed.  Emerson  grows  enthusiastic,  and 
declares  that  he  asks  no  better  clime  than  that  the  humble- 
bee  loves.  As  Lowell  called  a  common  flower  his  tropics, 
so  Emerson  calls  his  burly  bee  an  animated  torrid  zone. 
For  Emerson,  the  New  England  of  this  yellow- breeched 
philosopher  is  good  enough ;  let  others  sail  for  Porto  Rique 
—  that  is  the  way  the  poet's  fancy  takes  liberties  with 
geographic  names. 

The  bee  is  perhaps  the  most  steadily  cheerful  creature  in 
the  landscape,  but  he  is  not  the  most  joyful.    The  bird  is  the 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE  289 

one  being  that  seems  capable  of  rapturous  happiness.  The 
bird  is  therefore  one  of  the  poet's  keenest  delights,  and 
never  has  the  poet  neglected  to  write  of  it.  For  the  present, 
one  or  two  instances  must  suffice.  Let  these  instances  be 
extremes  —  "the  bird  which  is  most  like  a  bee"  (as  the 
poet  Forceythe  Willson  says),  and  the  bird  which  is  most 
like  a  beast  of  prey. 

Eight  quaint  lines  by  the  late  Emily  Dickinson  convey  an  The  Hum- 
impression  of  the  humming-bird.     He  comes  like  a  resonant   m,r|g-Blrd» 
streak  of  emerald  and  red,  whirring  the  blossoms  down  as 
he  passes.     He  is  probably  the  morning  mail  from  Africa. 
In  contrast  to  this  revolving  wheel  of  color,  consider  Tenny- 
son's little  picture  of  the  statuesque  king  of  birds.     How  he 
catches  the  genius  of  the  eagle  in  what  he  calls  A  Fragment!  The  Eagle, 
A  few  terse  lines,  if  they  are  the  work  of  a  Tennyson,  suf-   a  Frag" 
fice  for  an  eagle  :  he  is  too  sudden  and  too  secret  to  be  p.  312. 
pursued  in  a  long  poem  up  to  his  hidden  eyry.     He  wheels 
unceasingly  "  with  clang  of  wings,"  as  Shelley  says ;  he  is 
glassed  in  the  lake  —  how  Arnold's  lines  (p.  271)  seize  that 
moment ;  he  clasps  the  crag,  near  the  sun,  in  the  blue ;  he 
watches ;  he  falls  on  his  prey  like  a  thunderbolt. 

Both  these  birds  are  embodiments  of  swift,  exulting  strength, 
the  one  all  delicacy,  the  other  all  grandeur.  We  must  look 
to  other  poems  for  the  joy  of  bird-song :  to  those  of  Bryant 
and  Mr.  Robert  Burns  Wilson  on  the  bobolink,  those  of  Mr. 
George  Meredith  and  Mr.  William  Watson  on  the  lark, 
those  of  Walt  Whitman  and  Mr.  Maurice  Thompson  on  the 
mocking-bird,  and  that  of  Lowell  on  the  cat-bird.  Mean-  The  Bird, 
time,  a  little  prose  rhapsody  of  Ruskin  will  give  us  whatever  P-  312- 
impression  prose  can  give  of  the  fragility,  the  power,  the 
grace,  the  passionate  sweetness  and  strength  of  voice,  the 
cloud-like,  shadow-like,  sky-like  beauty  of  the  bird. 

Midsummer  comes,  the  song  of  birds  is  still,  and  the 
parched  plains  long  for  the  cool  water  of  rivers.     "  The  dry 


290 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


Song  of  the  fields  burn,  and  the  mills  are  to  turn,"  sings  the  Chatta- 
Chatta-        hoochee,  in  Sidney  Lanier's  poem.     The  poet  Lanier  was 

hoochee,  .  .  -    .       «  n  ,  .  .  .      . 

p.  313.  also  a  musician,  one  of  the  best  flute-players  of  his  time,  a 
fact  which  accounts  for  the  musical  quality  of  his  verse. 
And,  indeed,  unless  one  has  much  music  in  him,  he  cannot 
write  the  music  of  a  stream.  Tennyson  has  caught  the 
chatter  of  the  brook  in  his  song,  The  Brook.  Mr.  Maurice 
Thompson  has  suggested  the  flow  of  the  lowland  creek,  in 
his  Death  of  the  White  Heron. 

Bubble,  bubble  flows  the  stream, 
Like  an  old  song  through  a  dream. 

Lanier  has  turned  into  verse  the  swift  rush  of  the  mountain 
river. 

And  now,  in  our  pursuit  of  the  advancing  year,  we  have 
reached  the  dog-days.  To  many  of  us  these  bring  sugges- 
tions of  a  desire  for  the  seashore.  Let  us  make  a  digres- 
sion, take  a  holiday,  and  demand  of  the  poets  a  breath  of 
salt  air.  First,  remembering  that  we  are  looking  for  the 
cheerful  side  of  nature,  we  may  even  dare  to  enjoy  the 
railway  journey  shoreward,  although  Mr.  Ruskin  objects  so 
strongly  to  the  railway.  It  is  almost  incredible  that  Mr. 
Ruskin  never  felt  the  exultation  of  becoming,  so  to  speak,  a 
part  of  the  landscape,  as  the  train  thundered  over  hill,  down 
The  Rail-  vale.  Noise  and  smoke  are  occasionally  as  natural  as  sun- 
way Tram,  shjne  ancj  fae  luminous  quiet  of  evening;  the  railroad  train 
is  a  jubilant  storm.  Nor  is  it  always  ugly  in  the  landscape. 
Miss  Dickinson  very  naturally  likes  to  see  it  "  step  around  a 
pile  of  mountains." 

And  now  we  may  imagine  ourselves  to  have  passed  that 
line  of  mystery,  the  horizon  behind  which  lies  the  sea. 
There  it  stretches,  the  universe  of  water,  always  pulsing  and 
always  resounding.  The  wind  that  blows  from  it  is  the  very 
breath  of  life  to  the  sick  man.     Wind  and  wave  alike  are  full 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE  2QI 

of  dark  possibilities,  but  if  no  man  loved  to  dare  the  wind 
and  the  wave,  it  would  speak  ill  for  our  race  and  its  future. 
For  many  years  the  English  race  has  approved  Barry  Corn- 
wall's lines  beginning  with  the  buoyant  cry :  — 

The  sea !  the  sea !  the  open  sea !  The  Sea, 

The  blue,  the  fresh,  the  ever  free !  P'  3*6. 

The  seaside  has  not  usually  given  the  poets  an  inspiration 
so  cheerful  as  this  of  Barry  Cornwall's.  The  never  ceasing 
minor  music  of  the  surge  has  often  saddened  the  poet's 
heart.  But  even  Tennyson  sometimes  finds  delight  by  the 
sea,  for  here  as  elsewhere  he  is  moved  to  exclamation  at  the 
beauty  of  the  world.  For  example,  he  stands  in  wonder 
beside  a  shell,  small  and  pure  as  a  pearl.  He  dreams  of  the  The  shell, 
little  living  will  that  made  it  stir  on  the  shore.  He  is  aston-  p-  ***■ 
ished  at  its  structure,  which  cannot  bear  a  finger-tap,  but 
which  has  resisted  the  shock  and  pressure  of  seas  that  break 
the  three-decker's  oaken  spine. 

The  spring  and  the  summer  are  usually  spoken  of  as  the 
glad  time  of  the  year.  When  the  north  wind  begins  to  blow 
human  spirits  are  supposed  to  sink.  But  a  stout  heart 
rather  enjoys  the  rough  north  wind  and  its  promise  of 
healthful  cold.  On  this  subject,  Mr.  W.  E.  Henley  has  a 
poem  that  is  even  exultant.  The  wind,  he  says,  comes 
roaring  from  his  spacious  arctic  fastnesses,  and  like  a  giant 
hunter  storms  down  upon  the  sea;  but  the  wrinkled  sea, 
Old  Indefatigable,  merely  laughs  with  delight. 

With  summer  go  the  flowers.  For  that  matter,  some  fade 
every  day  in  the  year.  The  seventeenth-century  poet 
Herrick  laments,  — 

Fair  Daffodils,  we  weep  to  see 

You  haste  away  so  soon : 
As  yet  the  early-rising  Sun 

Has  not  attain'd  his  Noon. 


292 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


But  that  is  not  the  normal  way  in  which  to  regard  flowers 

and  the  morning.     Mr.  Lang  sees  the  grass  falling  asleep 

Scythe         beneath  the  lullaby  the  scythe  sings  to  it.     That  is  a  normal 

Song"  view.     In  a  wise  little  book !  recently  written  are  the  follow- 

ing  words :  — 

The  people  of  Japan  are  passionately  fond  of  flowers.  A  great 
many  of  their  holidays  are  fixed  by  the  blossoming  of  trees  and  shrubs. 
These  festivals  are  known  as  flower-viewings,  when  everybody  is 
expected  to  be  out  of  doors  enjoying  the  rich  colors  of  the  landscape. 
Thus,  at  a  time  of  year  when  we  are  celebrating  Washington's  birthday, 
perhaps  with  the  thermometer  at  zero  and  snow  all  over  the  ground, 
the  Japanese  have  their  plum  viewing;  the  plum  blossom  being  the 
first  to  put  forth  after  the  snow  is  gone.  This  happens  commonly  in 
February.  In  April  is  the  cherry-viewing,  in  May  it  is  the  peonies 
which  cause  the  schools  to  close,  in  August  the  lotus,  in  November  the 
chrysanthemum,  and  these  are  only  a  part. 

Blossoms  do  not  last  forever  in  Japan  any  more  than  in  any  other 
country,  and  no  doubt  the  people  are  sorry  to  see  them  drop  and  fade 
away,  especially  when  the  fruit  is  worthless  (as  in  the  case  of  the  Jap- 
anese plum  tree).  Still,  the  Japanese 'do  not  have  fast-days  or  mourn- 
ing-days when  the  flower-viewing  is  over,  but  go  cheerfully  about  their 
work  till  the  next  bloomtime  comes.     They  know  that 

Leaves  have  their  time  to  fall 
And  flowers  to  wither  at  the  north  wind's  breath. 

Sweet  Day,  That  contemporary  of  Herrick  whom  they  called  Holy 
p°°°'  George  Herbert  felt  as  keenly  as  any  one  the  passing  of 
the  sweet  rose,  and  of  the  sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so 
bright.  Yet  the  change  did  not  sadden  him,  for,  in  his  own 
quaint  words,  "  the  sweet  and  virtuous  soul,  like  seasoned 
timber,  never  gives." 

Even  when  autumn  comes,  it  is  not  necessary  to  regard 
The  Death    the  fall  of  the  leaves  as  a  grievous  thing.      Bryant  calls 
November  "the  melancholy  days,  the  saddest  of  the  year." 
Mr.  Frank  Stanton,  a  southern  dialect  poet,  protests  :  — 

.  *  Wendell  P.  Garrison's  "  Parables  for  School  and  Home."    Longmans, 
Green,  &  Co. 


of  the  Flow- 
ers, p.  320. 


% 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE 


293 


These  ain't  the  "  melancholy  days  "  —  there's  lots  o'  fun  in  sight; 
The  cool  and  bracin'  mornin's,  an'  the  big  oak  fires  at  night. 

In  a  finer  vein  Whittier  has  the  same  protest  in  his  poem 
called  A  Day.  Listening  in  November  to  the  squirrel  drop- 
ping nutshells  from  the  shagbark  trees,  and  to  the  soft 
whisper  of  the  dark  green  hemlocks,  the  poet  finds  a  gra- 
cious beauty  in  the  scene.  He  folds  to  his  heart  the  mem- 
ory of  "  each  lovely  thing  the  sweet  day  yields,"  and,  not 
disconsolate,  waits  with  the  calm  patience  of  the  woods  for 
the  leaf  and  blossom  of  spring.  Bryant  himself  felt  that 
November  is  not  always  to  be  thought  of  as  melancholy. 

In  a  poem  to  November  he  says  :  —  November, 

p.  321. 
Yet  one  rich  smile  and  we  will  try  to  bear 

The  piercing  winter  frost,  and  winds,  and  biting  air. 

November  is  distinctly  a  less  agreeable  month  than  Decem- 
ber, at  least  in  north  temperate  latitudes.  Snow  is  a  cheer- 
ful thing,  for  what  Emerson  calls  its  "frolic  architecture"  The  Snow- 
gives  to  the  landscape  the  charm  of  strangeness,  and  mer-  Storm, 
rily  shuts  human  beings  indoors  "  in  a  tumultuous  privacy 
of  storm."  Whittier's  most  poetic  poem  is  the  long  idyl 
which  details  the  cosey  delights  of  being  snow-bound.  A 
young  English  poet  of  our  own  day,  Mr.  A.  C.  Benson,  wel- 
comes the  rude,  rough  December  because  it  compels  the   winter 

cheerful  indoor  life.     This  is  the  time  of  harvests  :  not  those   Harvests. 

p.  323. 
of  golden  grain,  but  those  of  song.     In  music  and  book  and 

school  are  pleasures  as  real  as  those  of  woods  and  waters. 


SYMPATHY 

Thomas  Ashe 

Is  nature  all  so  beautiful? 

The  human  feeling  makes  it  so : 

The  sounds  we  love,  the  flowers  we  cull, 

Are  hallowed  with  man's  joy  or  woe. 


294 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

The  lit  le  speedwell's  tender  blue 
Is  not  so  pure  and  delicate, 
As  the  simple  wish  in  you 
That  will  its  tardy  advent  wait. 

The  wishing  for  the  green  of  trees 
Is  fresher  than  the  leaves  that  come : 
The  blowing  of  a  scented  breeze 
Is  sweetest  round  a  happy  home. 

The  ripple  of  a  tranquil  bay, 
The  water-lisp  in  curve  or  creek, 
Are  softest  on  the  welcome  day 
We  trust  to  find  some  friend  we  seek. 


CHANGED  VOICES 

William  Watson 

Last  night  the  sea-wind  was  to  me 
A  metaphor  of  liberty, 

And  every  wave  along  the  beach 
A  starlit  music  seemed  to  be. 

To-day  the  sea-wind  is  to  me 

A  fettered  soul  that  would  be  free, 

And  dumbly  striving  after  speech 
The  tides  yearn  landward  painfully. 

To-morrow  how  shall  sound  for  me 
The  changing  voice  of  wind  and  sea? 

What  tidings  shall  be  borne  of  each? 
What  rumor  of  what  mystery? 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE  295 

SONG  FROM  PIPPA  PASSES 
Robert  Browning 

The  year's  at  the  spring, 

And  day's  at  the  morn; 

Morning's  at  seven; 

The  hillside's  dew-pearl'd; 

The  lark's  on  the  wing;  5 

The  snail's  on  the  thorn; 

God's  in  His  heaven  — 

All's  right  with  the  world. 

There  is  a  charming  buoyancy,  elasticity,  springiness  about  the  move- 
ment of  the  poem,  as  if  Pippa  were  dancing  down  the  path.  In  what  ways 
does  Browning  secure  this  effect? 


MARCH 

William  Wordsworth 

The  cock  is  crowing, 
The  stream  is  flowing, 
The  small  birds  twitter, 
The  lake  doth  glitter, 

The  green  field  sleeps  in  the  sun : 
The  oldest  and  youngest 
Are  at  work  with  the  strongest; 
The  cattle  are  grazing, 
Their  heads  never  raising; 

There  are  forty  feeding  like  one ! 


296 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Like  an  army  defeated, 

The  snow  hath  retreated, 

And  now  doth  fare  ill 

On  the  top  of  the  bare  hill; 
The  ploughboy  is  whooping  anon,  anon. 

There's  joy  in  the  mountains; 

There's  life  in  the  fountains; 

Small  clouds  are  sailing, 

Blue  sky  prevailing; 
The  rain  is  over  and  gone ! 


I  WANDERED   LONELY  AS   A  CLOUD 

William  Wordsworth 

I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud 

That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills, 
When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd, 

A  host  of  golden  daffodils ; 
Beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees, 
Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 

Continuous  as  the  stars  that  shine 
And  twinkle  on  the  milky  way, 

They  stretch  in  never  ending  line 
Along  the  margin  of  a  bay : 

Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance, 

Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance. 

The  waves  beside  them  danced ;  but  they 
Out-did  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee : 

A  poet  could  not  but  be  gay 
In  such  a  jocund  company: 

I  gazed  —  and  gazed  —  but  little  thought 

What  wealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought. 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE  297 

For  oft,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie 

In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood,  20 

They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 

Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude; 
And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills, 
And  dances  with  the  daffodils. 

The  best  way  to  appreciate  the  fresh  charm  of  this  poem  is  to  learn  it. 
If,  as  is  said,  Mrs.  Wordsworth  composed  the  last  stanza,  she  was  more 
Wordsworthian  than  her  husband. 


THE  YELLOW  VIOLET 
William  Cullen  Bryant 

When  beechen  buds  begin  to  swell, 

And  woods  the  bluebird's  warble  know, 

The  yellow  violet's  modest  bell 
Peeps  from  the  last  year's  leaves  below. 

Ere  russet  fields  their  green  resume, 
Sweet  flower,  I  love,  in  forest  bare, 

To  meet  thee,  when  thy  faint  perfume 
Alone  is  in  the  virgin  air. 

Of  all  her  train,  the  hands  of  Spring 
First  plant  thee  in  the  watery  mould, 

And  I  have  seen  thee  blossoming 
Beside  the  snow-bank's  edges  cold. 

Thy  parent  sun,  who  bade  thee  view 
Pale  skies,  and  chilling  moisture  sip, 

Has  bathed  thee  in  his  own  bright  hue, 
And  streaked  with  jet  thy  glowing  lip. 


298 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Yet  slight  thy  form,  and  low  thy  seat, 
And  earthward  bent  thy  gentle  eye, 

Unapt  the  passing  view  to  meet, 

When  loftier  flowers  are  flaunting  nigh.  20 

Oft,  in  the  sunless  April  day, 
Thy  early  smile  has  stayed  my  walk, 

But  'midst  the  gorgeous  blooms  of  May, 
I  passed  thee  on  thy  humble  stalk. 

So  they,  who  climb  to  wealth,  forget  25 

The  friends  in  darker  fortunes  tried. 

I  copied  them  —  but  I  regret 
That  I  should  ape  the  ways  of  pride. 

And  when  again  the  genial  hour 

Awakes  the  painted  tribes  of  light,  30 

I'll  not  o'erlook  the  modest  flower 

That  made  the  woods  of  April  bright. 

Select  from  this  poem  the  two  lines  (consecutive  or  not)  that  seem  to 
you  the  most  musical,  and  tell  what  vowels  and  consonants  make  them  so. 


THE   RHODORA: 

ON  BEING   ASKED,   WHENCE   IS   THE   FLOWER? 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

In  May,  when  sea-winds  pierced  our  solitudes, 
I  found  the  fresh  Rhodora  in  the  woods, 
Spreading  its  leafless  blooms  in  a  damp  nook, 
To  please  the  desert  and  the  sluggish  brook. 
The  purple  petals,  fallen  in  the  pool, 
Made  the  black  water  with  their  beauty  gay; 
Here  might  the  redbird  come  his  plumes  to  cool, 
And  court  the  flower  that  cheapens  his  array. 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE 


299 


Rhodora !  if  the  sages  ask  thee  why 

This  charm  is  wasted  on  the  earth  and  sky,  10 

Tell  them,  dear,  that  if  eyes  were  made  for  seeing, 

Then  Beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being : 

Why  thou  wert  there,  O  rival  of  the  rose ! 

I  never  thought  to  ask,  I  never  knew; 

But,  in  my  simple  ignorance,  suppose  15 

The  self-same  Power  that  brought  me  there  brought  you. 


WARBLE   FOR   LILAC-TIME  1 

Walt  Whitman 

Warble  me  now  for  joy  of  lilac-time  (returning  in  remi- 
niscence), 
Sort  me,  O  tongue  and  lips,  for  Nature's  sake,  souvenirs  of 

earliest  summer, 
Gather  the  welcome  signs  (as   children  with   pebbles  or 

stringing  shells), 
Put  in  April  and  May,  the  hylas  croaking  in  the  ponds,  the 

elastic  air, 
Bees,  butterflies,  the  sparrow  with  its  simple  notes,  5 

Bluebird  and   darting   swallow,   nor   forget  the  high-hole 

flashing  his  golden  wings, 
The  tranquil  sunny  haze,  the  clinging  smoke,  the  vapor, 
Shimmer  of  waters  with  fish  in  them,  the  cerulean  above, 
All  that  is  jocund  and  sparkling,  the  brooks  running, 
The  maple  woods,  the  crisp  February  days  and  the  sugar- 
making,  10 
The  robin  where  he  hops,  bright-eyed,  brown-breasted, 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  of  Small,  Maynard,  &  Co. 
4.  hylas  are  frogs.    How  can  air  be  called  elastic?    5.  Can  anything  better 
be  said  of  a  sparrow  ?    8.  cerulean,  blue.     11.  Is  the  robin  red-breasted  ? 


300  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

With  musical  clear  call  at  sunrise,  and  again  at  sunset, 
Or  flitting  among  the  trees  of  the  apple  orchard,  building 

the  nest  of  his  mate, 
The  melted  snow  of  March,  the  willow  sending  forth  its 

yellow-green  sprouts, 
For  spring-time  is  here!- the  summer  is  here!  and  what  is 

this  in  it  and  from  it?  15 

Thou,  soul,  unloos'd — the  restlessness  after  I  know  not  what; 

Come,  let  us  lag  here  no  longer,  let  us  be  up  and  away ! 

O  if  one  could  but  fly  like  a  bird ! 

O  to  escape,  to  sail  forth  as  in  a  ship ! 

To  glide  with  thee,  O  soul,  o'er  all,  in  all,  as  a  ship  o'er 
the  waters;  20 

Gathering  these  hints,  the  preludes,  the  blue  sky,  the  grass, 
the  morning  drops  of  dew, 

The  lilac-scent,  the  bushes  with  dark  green  heart-shaped 
leaves, 

Wood-violets,  the  little  delicate  pale  blossoms  called  inno- 
cence, 

Samples  and  sorts  not  for  themselves  alone,  but  for  their 
atmosphere, 

To  grace  the  bush  I  love  —  to  sing  with  the  birds,  25 

A  warble  for  joy  of  lilac-time,  returning  in  reminiscence. 

What  senses  does  the  poem  appeal  to  ?    What  emotions  does  it  stir  ? 


THE   CROW 
William  Canton 

With  rakish  eye  and  plenished  crop, 
Oblivious  of  the  farmer's  gun, 

Upon  the  naked  ash  tree  top 

The  Crow  sits  basking  in  the  sun. 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE  301 

An  old  ungodly  rogue,  I  wot !  5 

For,  perched  in  black  against  the  blue, 

His  feathers,  torn  with  beak  and  shot, 
Let  woful  glints  of  April  through. 


The  year's  new  grass,  and,  golden-eyed, 

The  daisies  sparkle  underneath,  10 

And  chestnut  trees  on  either  side 
Have  opened  every  ruddy  sheath. 

But  doubtful  still  of  frost  and  snow 
The  ash  alone  stands  stark  and  bare, 

And  on  its  topmost  twig  the  Crow  15 

Takes  the  glad  morning's  sun  and  air. 


HARK  !  HARK  !  THE  LARK 

William  Shakspere 

Hark,  hark !  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 

And  Phoebus  'gins  arise, 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 

On  chaliced  flowers  that  lies; 
And  winking  Mary-buds  begin  5 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes; 
With  everything  that  pretty  bin 

My  lady  sweet,  arise : 
Arise,  arise. 

7.  bin  is  an  old  form  for  is. 

The  best  thing  to  do  with  these  nine  charming  lines  is  to  sing  them  to 
Schubert's  music. 


302 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

THE   LATTICE   AT  SUNRISE 
Charles  Tennyson-Turner 

As  on  my  bed  at  dawn  I  mus'd  and  pray'd, 

I  saw  my  lattice  prank' d  upon  the  wall, 

The  flaunting  leaves  and  flitting  birds  withal  — 

A  sunny  phantom  interlaced  with  shade; 

"Thanks  be  to  heaven,"  in  happy  mood  I  said,  \ 

"What  sweeter  aid  my  matins  could  befall 

Than  the  fair  glory  from  the  East  hath  made  ? 

What  holy  sleights  hath  God,  the  Lord  of  all, 

To  bid  us  feel  and  see !  we  are  not  free 

To  say  we  see  not,  for  the  glory  comes  i< 

Nightly  and  daily,  like  the  flowing  sea; 

His  lustre  pierceth  through  the  midnight  glooms 

And,  at  prime  hour,  behold !  He  follows  me 

With  golden  shadows  to  my  secret  rooms." 

8.  sleights,  of  course,  means  subtle  devices.    Is  the  paradox  pleasing  ? 


DAWN  AND  DARK1 

Norman  Gale 

God  with  his  million  cares 
Went  to  the  left  or  right, 
Leaving  our  world;  and  the  day 
Grew  light. 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  of  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  the  original  American 
publishers  of  "  Orchard  Songs." 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE  303 

Back  from-  a  sphere  He  came  5 

Over  a  starry  lawn, 
Looked  at  our  world ;  and  the  dark 
Grew  dawn. 

Is  this  poem  a  pleasant  and  uplifting  fancy,  or  is  it  a  "conceit  " — that 
is,  is  the  fancy  rather  far-fetched  ?  In  deciding,  do  not  be  too  much  influ- 
enced by  your  conviction  that  God  never  leaves  His  world.  Of  course  He 
does  not.  The  question  is,  May  we  find  pleasure  in  fancying  that  He  goes 
and  returns? 


SUNRISE   ON   THE   HILLS 
Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

I  stood  upon  the  hills,  when  heaven's  wide  arch 
Was  glorious  with  the  sun's  returning  march, 
And  woods  were  brightened,  and  soft  gales 
Went  forth  to  kiss  the  sun-clad  vales. 
The  clouds  were  far  beneath  me;  —  bathed  in  light,  5 

They  gathered  mid-way  round  the  wooded  height, 
And,  in  their  fading  glory,  shone 
Like  hosts  in  battle  overthrown, 
As  many  a  pinnacle,  with  shifting  glance, 
Through  the  gray  mist  thrust  up  its  shattered  lance,  10 

And  rocking  on  the  cliff  was  left 
The  dark  pine  blasted,  bare,  and  cleft. 
The  veil  of  cloud  was  lifted,  and  below 
Glowed  the  rich  valley,  and  the  river's  flow 
Was  darkened  by  the  forest's  shade,  15 

Or  glistened  in  the  white  cascade; 
Where  upward,  in  the  mellow  blush  of  day, 
The  noisy  bittern  wheeled  his  spiral  way. 


304 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


I  heard  the  distant  waters  dash, 
I  saw  the  current  whirl  and  flash,  —  20 

And  richly,  by  the  blue  lake's  silver  beach, 
The  woods  were  bending  with  a  silent  reach. 
Then  o'er  the  vale,  with  gentle  swell, 
The  music  of  the  village  bell 

Came  sweetly  to  the  echo-giving  hills;  25 

And  the  wild  horn,  whose  voice  the  woodland  fills, 
Was  ringing  to  the  merry  shout, 
That  faint  and  far  the  glen  sent  out, 
Where,  answering  to  the  sudden  shot,  thin  smoke, 
Through  thick-leaved  branches,  from  the  dingle  broke.     30 

If  thou  art  worn  and  hard  beset 
With  sorrows,  that  thou  wouldst  forget, 
If  thou  wouldst  read  a  lesson,  that  will  keep 
Thy  heart  from  fainting  and  thy  soul  from  sleep, 
Go  to  the  woods  and  hills !  —  No  tears  35 

Dim  the  sweet  look  that  Nature  wears. 


MY   HEART  LEAPS  UP  WHEN  I    BEHOLD 
William  Wordsworth 

My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold 

A  rainbow  in  the  sky : 
So  was  it  when  my  life  began; 
So  is  it  now  I  am  a  man; 
So  be  it  when  I  shall  grow  old,  5 

Or  let  me  die ! 
The  Child  is  father  of  the  Man; 
And  I  could  wish  my  days  to  be 
Bound  each  to  each  by  natural  piety. 

What  line  in  this  poem  is  an  epigram,  and  has  become  famous  as  such  ? 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE  305 


'TWAS   ONE   OF  THE   CHARMED  DAYS 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

'Twas  one  of  the  charmed  days, 

When  the  genius  of  God  doth  flow, 

The  wind  may  alter  twenty  ways, 

A  tempest  cannot  blow; 

It  may  blow  north,  it  still  is  warm; 

Or  south,  it  still  is  clear; 

Or  east,  it  smells  like  a  clover-farm; 

Or  west,  no  thunder  fear. 

JUNE 

William  Cullen  Bryant 

I  gazed  upon  the  glorious  sky 

And  the  green  mountains  round; 
And  thought,  that  when  I  came  to  lie 

Within  the  silent  ground, 
'Twere  pleasant,  that  in  flowery  June, 
When  brooks  sent  up  a  cheerful  tune, 

And  groves  a  joyous  sound, 
The  sexton's  hand,  my  grave  to  make, 
The  rich,  green  mountain  turf  should  break. 

A  cell  within  the  frozen  mould, 

A  coffin  borne  through  sleet, 
And  icy  clods  above  it  rolled, 

While  fierce  the  tempests  beat  — 
Away !  —  I  will  not  think  of  these  — 
Blue  be  the  sky  and  soft  the  breeze, 

Earth  green  beneath  the  feet, 
And  be  the  damp  mould  gently  pressed 
Into  my  narrow  place  of  rest. 
x 


306 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

There,  through  the  long,  long  summer  hours 

The  golden  light  should  lie,  20 

And  thick  young  herbs  and  groups  of  flowers 
Stand  in  their  beauty  by. 

The  oriole  should  build  and  tell 

His  love-tale,  close  beside  my  cell; 

The  idle  butterfly  25 

Should  rest  him  there,  and  there  be  heard 

The  housewife  bee  and  humming-bird. 

And  what  if  cheerful  shouts,  at  noon, 

Come  from  the  village  sent, 
Or  songs  of  maids,  beneath  the  moon,  30 

With  fairy  laughter  blent? 
And  what  if,  in  the  evening  light, 
Betrothed  lovers  walk  in  sight 

Of  my  low  monument? 
I  would  the  lovely  scene  around  35 

Might  know  no  sadder  sight  or  sound. 

I  know,  I  know  I  should  not  see 

The  season's  glorious  show, 
Nor  would  its  brightness  shine  for  me, 

Nor  its  wild  music  flow;  4° 

But  if,  around  my  place  of  sleep, 
The  friends  I  love  should  come  to  weep, 

They  might  not  haste  to  go. 
Soft  airs  and  song,  and  light,  and  bloom, 
Should  keep  them  lingering  by  my  tomb.  45 

These  to  their  softened  hearts  should  bear 

The  thought  of  what  has  been, 
And  speak  of  one  who  cannot  share 

The  gladness  of  the  scene; 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE 


307 


Whose  part,  in  all  the  pomp  that  fills  50 

The  circuit  of  the  summer  hills, 
Is  —  that  his  grave  is  green; 
And  deeply  would  their  hearts  rejoice 
To  hear,  again,  his  living  voice. 

50-52.  These  lines  were  much  admired  by  Edgar  Poe,  whose  ear  for 
music  in  poetry  was  very  true. 


TO  THE   DANDELION 

James  Russell  Lowell 

Dear  common  flower,  that  grow'st  beside  the  way, 
Fringing  the  dusty  road  with  harmless  gold, 

First  pledge  of  blithesome  May, 
Which  children  pluck,  and,  full  of  pride  uphold, 

High-hearted  buccaneers,  o'erjoyed  that  they 
An  Eldorado  in  the  grass  have  found, 

Which  not  the  rich  earth's  ample  round 
May  match  in  wealth,  thou  art  more  dear  to  me 
Than  all  the  prouder  summer-blooms  may  be. 

Gold  such  as  thine  ne'er  drew  the  Spanish  prow 
Through  the  primeval  hush  of  Indian  seas, 

Nor  wrinkled  the  lean  brow 
Of  age,  to  rob  the  lover's  heart  of  ease; 

'Tis  the  Spring's  largess,  which  she  scatters  now 
To  rich  and  poor  alike,  with  lavish  hand, 

Though  most  hearts  never  understand 
To  take  it  at  God's  value,  but  pass  by 
The  offered  wealth  with  unrewarded  eye. 

6.  Eldorado,  a  fabled  land  rich  in  gold  —  "  golden  land." 


308  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Thou  art  my  tropics  and  mine  Italy; 
To  look  at  thee  unlocks  a  warmer  clime;  20 

The  eyes  thou  givest  me 
Are  in  the  heart,  and  heed  not  space  or  time : 

Not  in  mid  June  the  golden-cuirassed  bee 
Feels  a  more  summer-like  warm  ravishment 

In  the  white  lily's  breezy  tent,  25 

His  fragrant  Sybaris,  than  I,  when  first 
From  the  dark  green  thy  yellow  circles  burst. 

Then  think  I  of  deep  shadows  on  the  grass, 
Of  meadows  where  in  sun  the  cattle  graze, 

Where,  as  the  breezes  pass,  30 

The  gleaming  rushes  lean  a  thousand  ways, 
Of  leaves  that  slumber  in  a  cloudy  mass, 
Or  whiten  in  the  wind,  of  waters  blue 

That  from  the  distance  sparkle  through 
Some  woodland  gap,  and  of  a  sky  above,  35 

Where  one  white  cloud  like  a  stray  lamb  doth  move. 

My  childhood's  earliest  thoughts  are  linked  with  thee; 
The  sight  of  thee  calls  back  the  robin's  song, 

Who,  from  the  dark  old  tree 
Beside  the  door,  sang  clearly  all  day  long,  40 

And  I,  secure  in  childish  piety, 
Listened  as  if  I  heard  an  angel  sing 

With  news  from  heaven,  which  he  could  bring 
Fresh  every  day  to  my  untainted  ears 
When  birds  and  flowers  and  I  were  happy  peers.  45 

How  like  a  prodigal  doth  nature  seem, 
When  thou,  for  all  thy  gold,  so  common  art ! 

Thou  teachest  me  to  deem 
More  sacredly  of  every  human  heart, 

26.   Sybaris,  a  town  in  ancient  Italy,  famous  for  its  luxury. 


m* 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE 


309 


Since  each  reflects  in  joy  its  scanty  gleam  50 

Of  heaven,  and  could  some  wondrous  secret  show, 
Did  we  but  pay  the  love  we  owe, 
And  with  a  child's  undoubting  wisdom  look 
On  all  these  living  pages  of  God's  book. 

What  is  the  rhyme-scheme  ?  How  many  lines  in  a  stanza  ?  Which 
stanza  recalls  to  the  poet  certain  pictures  of  his  boyhood,  which  certain 
sounds  ?  Is  it  natural  that  so  trifling  a  thing  as  a  flower  should  recall  so 
much  to  one  ?    The  first  three  stanzas  are  eminently  worth  learning. 


THE  HUMBLE-BEE 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

Burly,  dozing  humble-bee, 

Where  thou  art  is  clime  for  me. 

Let  them  sail  for  Porto  Rique, 

Far-off  heats  through  seas  to  seek; 

I  will  follow  thee  alone,  5 

Thou  animated  torrid  zone ! 

Zigzag  steerer,  desert  cheerer, 

Let  me  chase  thy  waving  lines; 

Keep  me  nearer,  me  thy  hearer, 

Singing  over  shrubs  and  vines.  10 

Insect  lover  of  the  sun, 
Joy  of  thy  dominion ! 
Sailor  of  the  atmosphere; 
Swimmer  through  the  waves  of  air; 
Voyager  of  light  and  noon;  15 

Epicurean  of  June ! 

16.  Epicurean  should  be  accented  on  the  second  e%  though  to  do  so 
here  will  require  breaking  this  vowel  into  two  syllables.  The  Epicureans 
were  a  school  of  Greek  philosophers  who  believed  that  death  ends  all. 
Can  you  infer  how  the  word  came  to  be  applied  to  those  who  are  fond 
of  dainty  food  ? 


310  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Wait,  I  prithee,  till  I  come 
Within  earshot  of  thy  hum,  — 
All  without  is  martyrdom. 

When  the  south  wind,  in  May  days,  20 

With  a  net  of  shining  haze 

Silvers  the  horizon  wall, 

And,  with  softness  touching  all, 

Tints  the  human  countenance 

With  the  color  of  romance,  25 

And  infusing  subtle  heats 

Turns  the  sod  to  violets, 

Thou,  in  sunny  solitudes, 

Rover  of  the  underwoods, 

The  green  silence  dost  displace  30 

With  thy  mellow,  breezy  bass. 

Hot  midsummer's  petted  crone, 

Sweet  to  me  thy  drowsy  tone 

Tells  of  countless  sunny  hours, 

Long  days,  and  solid  banks  of  flowers;  35 

Of  gulfs  of  sweetness  without  bound 

In  Indian  wildernesses  found; 

Of  Syrian  peace,  immortal  leisure, 

Firmest  cheer,  and  bird-like  pleasure. 

Aught  unsavory  or  unclean  40 

Hath  my  insect  never  seen; 

But  violets  and  bilberry  bells, 

Maple  sap  and  daffodels, 

Grass  with  green  flag  half-mast  high, 

19.  This  is  what  is  called  hyperbole,  —  a  poetic  exaggeration.  25.  There 
is  no  particular  color  of  romance.  What  does  Emerson  mean  ?  26.  Is  the 
sod  actually  turned  into  violets  ?  38.  Syrian  is  a  pleasant  word,  and  the 
poet  probably  uses  it  in  the  larger  sense  of  Oriental;  the  Orientals  are 
always  leisurely ;  they  are  not  prompt,  and  cannot  understand  our  Western 
notions  of  the  value  of  time. 


THE   MORNING   LANDSCAPE 


311 


Succory  to  match  the  sky,  45 

Columbine  with  horn  of  honey, 

Scented  fern,  and  agrimony, 

Clover,  catchfly,  adder's-tongue, 

And  brier-roses,  dwelt  among; 

All  beside  was  unknown  waste,  50 

All  was  picture  as  he  passed. 

Wiser  far  than  human  seer, 

Yellow-breeched  philosopher ! 

Seeing  only  what  is  fair, 

Sipping  only  what  is  sweet,  55 

Thou  dost  mock  at  fate  and  care, 

Leave  the  chaff  and  take  the  wheat. 

When  the  fierce  northwestern  blast 

Cools  sea  and  land  so  far  and  fast, 

Thou  already  slumberest  deep;  60 

Woe  and  want  thou  canst  outsleep; 

Want  and  woe,  which  torture  us, 

Thy  sleep  makes   ridiculous. 

50-51.  In  Shakspere's  time  (not  Emerson's)  waste,  like  vast,  rhymed 
with  passed.  56-57.  Is  the  metaphor  a  trifle  mixed?  62-63.  Note 
Emerson's  epigrammatic  power. 

THE   HUMMING-BIRD1 

Emily  Dickinson 

A  route  of  evanescence 

With  a  revolving  wheel ; 
A  resonance  of  emerald, 

iFrom  "  Poems,"  Second  Series,  Copyright,  1891,  by  Roberts  Bros.;  now 
published  by  Little,  Brown,  &  Co.,  Boston,  and  reprinted  by  their  permission 
and  that  of  Miss  Lavinia  N.  Dickinson. 

1.  Here  route  is  used  in  the  old  sense,  of  rush.  3.  Is  this  line  truthful 
to  the  impression  the  bird  gives  ?  2,  4.  Would  it  have  been  better  not  to 
rhyme  these  lines  ? 


312  STUDY   OF  LITERATURE 

A  rush  of  cochineal  j 
And  every  blossom  on  the  bush 

Adjusts  its  tumbled  head,  — 
The  mail  from  Tunis,  probably, 

An  easy  morning's  ride. 


THE  EAGLE 

FRAGMENT 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 

He  clasps  the  crag  with  hooked  hands ; 
Close  to  the  sun  in  lonely  lands, 
Ringed  with  the  azure  world,  he  stands. 

The  wrinkled  sea  beneath  him  crawls ; 
He  watches  from  his  mountain  walls, 
And  like  a  thunderbolt  he  falls. 


THE   BIRD 
John  Ruskin 

The  bird  is  little  more  than  a  drift  of  the  air  brought 
into  form  by  plumes  ;  the  air  is  in  all  its  quills,  it  breathes 
through  its  whole  frame  and  flesh,  and  glows  with  air  in 
its  flying,  like  a  blown  flame  :  it  rests  upon  the  air,  sub- 
dues it,  surpasses  it,  outraces  it,  —  is  the  air,  conscious 
of  itself,  conquering  itself,  ruling  itself. 

Also,  into  the  throat  of  the  bird  is  given  the  voice  of 
the  air.  All  that  in  the  wind  itself  is  weak,  wild,  useless 
in  sweetness,  is  knit  together  in  its  song.     As  we  may 


THE  MORNING   LANDSCAPE  313 

imagine  the  wild  form  of  the  cloud  closed  into  the  10 
perfect  form  of  the  bird's  wings,  so  the  wild  voice 
of  the  cloud  into  its  ordered  and  commanded  voice; 
unwearied,  rippling  through  the  clear  heaven  in  its  glad- 
ness, interpreting  all  intense  passion  through  the  soft 
spring  nights,  bursting  into  acclaim  and  rapture  of  choir  15 
at  daybreak,  or  lisping  and  twittering  among  the  boughs 
and  hedges  through  heat  of  day,  like  little  winds  that 
only  make  the  cowslip  bells  shake,  and  ruffle  the  petals 
of  the  wild  rose. 

Also,  upon  the  plumes  of  the  bird  are  put  the  colors  20 
of  the  air :  on  these  the  gold  of  the  cloud,  that  cannot 
be  gathered  by  any  covetousness ;  the  rubies  of  the 
clouds,  the  vermilion  of  the  cloud-bar,  and  the  flame 
of  the  cloud-crest,  and  the  snow  of  the  cloud,  and  its 
shadow,  and  the  melted  blue  of  the  deep  wells  of  the  sky  25 
—  all  these,  seized  by  the  creating  spirit,  and  woven  into 
films  and  threads  of  plume ;  with  wave  on  wave  following 
and  fading  along  breast,  and  throat,  and  opened  wings, 
infinite  as  the  dividing  of  the  foam  and  the  sifting  of  the 
sea-sand.  30 


SONG  OF  THE  CHATTAHOOCHEE1 

Sidney  Lanier 

Out  of  the  hills  of  Habersham, 
Down  through  the  valleys  of  Hall, 
I  hurry  amain  to  reach  the  plain, 
Run  the  rapid  and  leap  the  fall, 
Split  at  the  rock  and  together  again, 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  of  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


314 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Accept  my  bed,  or  narrow  or  wide, 
And  flee  from  folly  on  every  side, 
With  a  lover's  pain  to  attain  the  plain 

Far  from  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Far  from  the  valleys  of  Hall.  10 

All  down  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

All  through  the  valleys  of  Hall, 
The  rushes  cried,  "  Abide,  abide," 
The  wilful  waterweeds  held  me  thrall, 
The  loving  laurel  turned  my  tide,  15 

The  ferns  and  the  fondling  grass  said,  "  Stay," 
The  dewberry  dipped  for  to  work  delay, 
And  the  little  reeds  sighed,  "  Abide,  abide," 

Here  in  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Here  in  the  valleys  of  Hall.  20 

High  o'er  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Veiling  the  valleys  of  Hall, 
The  hickory  told  me  manifold 
Fair  tales  of  shade  ;  the  poplar  tall 
Wrought  me  her  shadowy  self  to  hold ;  25 

The  chestnut,  the  oak,  the  walnut,  the  pine, 
Overleaning,  with  flickering  meaning  and  sign, 
Said  :  "  Pass  not  so  cold,  these  manifold 

Deep  shades  of  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

These  glades  in  the  valleys  of  Hall."  30 

And  oft  in  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

And  oft  in  the  valleys  of  Hall, 
The  white  quartz  shone,  and  the  smooth  brook  stone 
Did  bar  me  of  passage  with  friendly  brawl ; 
And  many  a  luminous  jewel  lone  35 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE  315 

(Crystals  clear  or  a-cloud  with  mist, 

Ruby,  garnet,  or  amethyst) 

Made  lures  with  the  lights  of  streaming  stone 
In  the  clefts  of  the  hills  of  Habersham, 
In  the  beds  of  the  valleys  of  Hall.  4° 

But  oh  !  not  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

And  oh  !  not  the  valleys  of  Hall 
Avail ;  I  am  fain  for  to  water  the  plain. 
Downward  the  voices  of  Duty  call ; 
Downward  to  toil  and  be  mixed  with  the  main.  45 

The  dry  fields  burn,  and  the  mills  are  to  turn, 
And  a  myriad  flowers  mortally  yearn, 
And  the  lordly  main  from  beyond  the  plain 

Calls  o'er  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Calls  through  the  valleys  of  Hall.  50 

The  poem  is  distinctly  worth  learning.  The  swift  melody  of  it  is  obvious. 
Is  the  melody  obtained  at  the  expense  of  thought  and  of  pictures,  or  is  there 
a  happy  blending  of  poetic  qualities  ? 


THE  RAILWAY  TRAIN1 
Emily  Dickinson 

I  like  to  see  it  lap  the  miles, 

And  lick  the  valleys  up, 
And  stop  to  feed  itself  at  tanks ; 

And  then,  prodigious,  step 

Around  a  pile  of  mountains,  5 

And,  supercilious,  peer 
In  shanties  by  the  sides  of  roads ; 

And  then  a  quarry  pare 

1  From  "  Poems,''  Second  Series,  Copyright,  1891,  by  Roberts  Brothers; 
now  published  by  Little,  Brown,  &  Co.,  Boston,  and  reprinted  by  their  per- 
mission and  that  of  Miss  Lavinia  N.  Dickinson. 


316  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

To  fit  its  sides,  and  crawl  between, 
Complaining  all  the  while 

In  horrid,  hooting  stanza ; 
Then  chase  itself  down  hill 

And  neigh  like  Boanerges ; 

Then,  punctual  as  a  star, 
Stop  —  docile  and  omnipotent  — 

At  its  own  stable  door. 

13.  Boanerges,  "sons  of  thunder." 

For  what  do  you  praise,  for  what  adversely  criticise,  this  poem  ? 


THE   SEA 

Barry  Cornwall 

The  sea  !  the  sea  !  the  open  sea  ! 

The  blue,  the  fresh,  the  ever  free  ! 

Without  a  mark,  without  a  bound, 

It  runs  the  earth's  wide  regions  round ; 

It  plays  with  the  clouds ;  it  mocks  the  skies, 

Or  like  a  cradled  creature  lies. 

I'm  on  the  sea  !     I'm  on  the  sea  ! 

I  am  where  I  would  ever  be, 

With  the  blue  above  and  the  blue  below, 

And  silence  wheresoe'er  I  go ; 

If  a  storm  should  come  and  awake  the  deep, 

What  matter?    /shall  ride  and  sleep. 

I  love,  oh  !  how  I  love  to  ride 

On  the  fierce,  foaming,  bursting  tide, 

When  every  mad  wave  drowns  the  moon, 


fc.  m 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE  3^ 

Or  whistles  aloud  his  tempest  tune, 
And  tells  how  goeth  the  world  below, 
And  why  the  southwest  blasts  do  blow. 

I  never  was  on  the  dull,  tame  shore, 

But  I  loved  the  great  sea  more  and  more,  20 

And  back  I  flew  to  her  billowy  breast, 

Like  a  bird  that  seeks  its  mother's  nest ; 

And  a  mother  she  was  and  is  to  me, 

For  I  was  born  on  the  deep  blue  sea  ! 

And  I  have  lived,  in  calm  and  strife,  25 

Full  fifty  summers  a  sailor's  life, 

With  wealth  to  spend  and  power  to  range, 

But  never  have  sought  or  sighed  for  change ; 

And  Death,  whenever  he  comes  to  me, 

Shall  come  on  the  wild  and  boundless  sea.  30 


THE   SHELL 
Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 

See  what  a  lovely  shell, 

Small  and  pure  as  a  pearl, 

Lying  close  to  my  foot, 

Frail,  but  a  work  divine, 

Made  so  fairily  well  5 

With  delicate  spine  and  whorl, 

How  exquisitely  minute, 

A  miracle  of  design  ! 

What  is  it?     A  learned  man 

Could  give  it  a  clumsy  name.  10 

Let  him  name  it  who  can, 

The  beauty  would  be  the  same. 


3I3  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

The  tiny  cell  is  forlorn, 

Void  of  the  little  living  will 

That  made  it  stir  on  the  shore.  is 

Did  he  stand  at  the  diamond  door 

Of  his  house  in  a  rainbow  frill  ? 

Did  he  push,  when  he  was  uncurl'd, 

A  golden  foot  or  a  fairy  horn 

Thro'  his  dim  water- world?  20 

Slight,  to  be  crush'd  with  a  tap 

Of  my  finger-nail  on  the  sand, 

Small,  but  a  work  divine, 

Frail,  but  of  force  to  withstand, 

Year  upon  year,  the  shock  25 

Of  cataract  seas  that  snap 

The  three-decker's  oaken  spine 

Athwart  the  ledges  of  rock, 

Here  on  the  Breton  strand  ! 

Write  the  rhyme-scheme  of  each  stanza.  Why  is  the  second  the  short- 
est ?  Are  short  lines  better  than  long  for  a  poem  on  a  tiny  shell  ?  Do  they 
lend  a  certain  sense  of  care,  as  if  the  poet  paused  in  time,  even  held  his 
breath,  as  he  touched  it  ? 


SCYTHE   SONG 

Andrew  Lang 

Mowers,  weary  and  brown  and  blithe, 

What  is  the  word  methinks  ye  know, 
Endless  over-word  that  the  scythe 

Sings  to  the  blades  of  the  grass  below  ? 
Scythes  that  swing  in  the  grass  and  clover, 

Something,  still,  they  say  as  they  pass ; 
What  is  the  word  that,  over  and  over, 

Sings  the  scythe  to  the  flowers  and  grass? 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE 


319 


Hush,  ah  hush,  the  scythes  are  saying, 

Hush,  and  heed  not,  and  fall  asleep  ;  zo 

Hush,  they  say  to  the  grasses  swaying, 

Hush,  they  sing  to  the  clover  deep  ! 
Hush,  —  'tis  the  lullaby  Time  is  singing,  — 

Hush,  and  heed  not,  for  all  things  pass, 
Hush,  ah  hush  !  and  the  scythes  are  swinging         15 

Over  the  clover,  over  the  grass  ! 

Is  there  in  this  poem  onomatopoeia,  that  is,  deliberate  imitation,  by 
means  of  words,  of  some  sound  in  nature  ? 


SWEET  DAY,   SO  COOL 
George  Herbert 

Sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright, 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky, 
The  dew  shall  weep  thy  fall  to-night ; 
For  thou  must  die. 

Sweet  rose,  whose  hue,  angry  and  brave,  5 

Bids  the  rash  gazer  wipe  his  eye, 
Thy  root  is  ever  in  its  grave, 

And  thou  must  die. 

Sweet  spring,  full  of  sweet  days  and  roses, 
A  box  where  sweets  compacted  lie,  10 

My  music  shows  ye  have  your  closes, 
And  all  must  die. 

Only  a  sweet  and  virtuous  soul, 
Like  season'd  timber,  never  gives ; 
But  though  the  whole  world  turn  to  coal,  15 

Then  chiefly  lives. 

5,  6.    Is  this  a  conceit  ? 


320  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


THE  DEATH   OF   THE  FLOWERS 
William  Cullen  Bryant 

The  melancholy  days  are  come,  the  saddest  of  the  year, 
Of  wailing  winds,  and  naked  woods,  and  meadows  brown 

and  sere. 
Heaped  in  the  hollows  of  the  grove  the  withered  leaves  lie 

dead; 
They  rustle  to  the  eddying  gust,  and  to  the  rabbit's  tread. 
The  robin  and  the  wren  are  flown,  and  from  the  shrubs  the 

jay,  5 

And  from  the  wood-top  calls  the   crow,  through   all   the 

gloomy  day. 

Where  are  the  flowers,  the  fair  young  flowers,  that  lately 

sprang  and  stood 
In  brighter  light  and  softer  airs,  a  beauteous  sisterhood  ? 
Alas  !  they  all  are  in  their  graves,  the  gentle  race  of  flowers 
Are  lying  in  their  lowly  beds,  with  the  fair  and  good  of 

ours.  10 

The  rain  is  falling  where  they  lie,  but  the  cold  November 

rain, 
Calls  not,  from  out  the  gloomy  earth,  the  lovely  ones  again. 

The  wind-flower  and  the  violet,  they  perished  long  ago, 
And  the  brier-rose  and  the  orchis  died  amid  the  summer 

glow; 
But  on  the  hill  the  goldenrod,  and  the  aster  in  the  wood,    15 
And  the  yellow  sunflower  by  the  brook  in  autumn  beauty 

stood, 
Till  fell  the  frost  from  the  clear  cold  heaven,  as  falls  the 

plague  on  men, 
And  the  brightness  of  their  smile  was  gone,  from  upland, 

glade,  and  glen. 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE 


321 


And  now,  when  comes  the  calm  mild  day,  as  still  such  days 

will  come, 
To  call  the  squirrel  and  the  bee  from  out  their  winter  home ; 
When  the  sound  of  dropping  nuts  is  heard,  though  all  the 

trees  are  still,  21 

And  twinkle  in  the  smoky  light  the  waters  of  the  rill, 
The  south  wind  searches  for  the  flowers  whose  fragrance  late 

he  bore, 
And  sighs  to  find  them  in  the  wood  and  by  the  stream  no 

more. 

And  then  I  think  of  one  who  in  her  youthful  beauty  died,  25 
The  fair,  meek  blossom  that  grew  up  and  faded  by  my  side  : 
In  the  cold  moist  earth  we  laid  her,  when  the  forest  cast  the 

leaf, 
And  we  wept  that  one  so  lovely  should  have  a  life  so  brief : 
Yet  not  unmeet  it  was  that  one,  like  that  young  friend  of 

ours, 
So  gentle  and  so  beautiful,  should  perish  with  the  flowers.  30 


NOVEMBER 
William  Cullen  Bryant 

Yet  one  smile  more,  departing,  distant  sun  ! 

One  mellow  smile  through  the  soft  vapory  air, 
Ere,  o'er  the  frozen  earth,  the  loud  winds  run, 

Or  snows  are  sifted  o'er  the  meadows  bare. 
One  smile  on  the  brown  hills  and  naked  trees,  5 

And  the  dark  rocks  whose  summer  wreaths  are  cast, 
And  the  blue  Gentian  flower,  that,  in  the  breeze, 

Nods  lonely,  of  her  beauteous  race  the  last. 
Yet  a  few  sunny  days,  in  which  the  bee 

Shall  murmur  by  the  hedge  that  skirts  the  way,  10 


.22  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

The  cricket  chirp  upon  the  russet  lea, 

And  man  delight  to  linger  in  thy  ray. 
Yet  one  rich  smile,  and  we  will  try  to  bear 
The  piercing  winter  frost,  and  winds,  and  darkened  air. 


THE   SNOW-STORM 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

Announced  by  all  the  trumpets  of  the  sky, 
Arrives  the  snow,  and,  driving  o'er  the  fields, 
Seems  nowhere  to  alight :  the  whited  air 
Hides  hills  and  woods,  the  river,  and  the  heavens, 
And  veils  the  farmhouse  at  the  garden's  end.  5 

The  sled  and  traveller  stopped,  the  courier's  feet 
Delayed,  all  friends  shut  out,  the  housemates  sit 
Around  the  radiant  fireplace,  enclosed 
In  a  tumultuous  privacy  of  storm. 

Come  see  the  north  wind's  masonry.  10 

Out  of  an  unseen  quarry  evermore 
Furnished  with  tile,  the  fierce  artificer 
Curves  his  white  bastions  with  projected  roof 
Round  every  windward  stake,  or  tree,  or  door. 
Speeding,  the  myriad-handed,  his  wild  work  15 

So  fanciful,  so  savage,  nought  cares  he 
For  number  or  proportion.     Mockingly, 
On  coop  or  kennel  he  hangs  Parian  wreaths ; 
A  swan-like  form  invests  the  hidden  thorn ; 
Fills  up  the  farmer's  lane  from  wall  to  wall,  20 

Maugre  the  farmer's  sighs ;  and,  at  the  gate, 

3.  Is  this  line  faithful  to  the  appearance  of  nature?  1-9.  These  lines 
would  be  worth  learning,  were  it  only  for  the  condensation  of  phrase  in  the 
ninth.  18.  Parian  marble  was  the  whitest  and  finest  known  to  the  ancients. 
Our  shops  are  full  of  a  cheap  imitation  stone  that  unfortunately  goes  by 
this  famous  name.    21.  Maugre  is  an  old  French  word,  meaning  in  spite  of. 


THE  MORNING  LANDSCAPE 


323 


A  tapering  turret  overtops  the  work. 

And  when  his  hours  are  numbered,  and  the  world 

Is  all  his  own,  retiring,  as  he  were  not, 

Leaves,  when  the  sun  appears,  astonished  Art  25 

To  mimic  in  slow  structures,  stone  by  stone, 

Built  in  an  age,  the  mad  wind's  night- work, 

The  frolic  architecture  of  the  snow. 


WINTER   HARVESTS1 

Arthur  Christopher  Benson 

Pipe,  winds  of  winter, 

O'er  the  hill's  cold  brow. 
Shatter  and  splinter 

The  dying,  dying  bough ; 

Brim  the  icy  river,  5 

Let  the  dead  reeds  shake ; 
Make  the  wild  swan  shiver 

In  her  northern  lake. 

O'er  the  empty  cover 

Bid  the  brown  hawk  swing,  10 

Send  the  wailing  plover, 

Southward  to  the  spring. 

I  do  not  fear  thee, 

Wind,  harsh  and  shrill, 
Rather  let  me  hear  thee  15 

Thunder  in  the  hill. 

1  Reprinted  from  "  Lord  Vyet  and  Other  Poems,"  by  permission  of 
Mr.  John  Lane. 


324 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Rude,  rough  December, 
Thine  be  all  the  earth, 

So  the  ruddy  ember 
Rustle  on  the  hearth. 

When  the  shadow  beckons, 
Home,  and  bar  the  door ; 

Then  the  poet  reckons 
All  his  summer  store ; 

Coins  his  gathered  gladness 

Into  ringing  rhyme, 
Hugs  his  merry  madness, 

'Tis  his  harvest  time. 


Plan  of  Summary.  —  Reviewing  the  chapter,  (i)  enumerate  the 
kinds  of  metre,  designating  them  by  the  number  of  accents,  and  by  the 
predominant  foot.  Then  (2)  say  which  poem  is  most  noticeable  for  mel- 
ody; (3)  which  for  beauty  of  suggested  sights;  (4)  which  for  pleasure 
of  suggested  sounds;  (5)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  activity; 
(6)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  odors  or  tastes;  (7)  which  is  most 
easily  understood;  (8)  which  moves  the  reader  most  deeply ;  (9)  which 
shows  most  skill  in  character  drawing;  (10)  which  has  the  best  unity; 
(n)  which,  your  critical  judgment  tells  you,  is  the  best  piece  of  work; 
(12)  which  you  like  the  best,  without  regard  to  its  deserved  rank,  or 
its  fame. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  GENTLEMAN 

The  word  which  stands  at  the  head  of  this  chapter  is  a 
curious  example  of  how  language  changes  its  meaning. 
Gentile  is  from  Latin  gentilis,  "  belonging  to  the  same  clan." 
The  early  Christians  fell  into  the  Jewish  habit  of  calling  all 
but  themselves  gentiles.  Christianity  first  spread  among 
the  peasants,  the  poor  of  the  earth.  As  time  went  on  and 
almost  all  the  poor  embraced  the  new  religion,  the  only 
gentiles  left  were  the  rich  nobles.  After  a  while,  there- 
fore, gentile  meant  little  more  than  nobleman.  Finally 
even  these  gentiles  became  Christians,  their  native  breed- 
ing developed  into  a  nobler  and  finer  behavior,  and  gentile 
came  to  mean  gentle  in  the  modern  sense.  In  the  sixteenth 
century  the  playwright  Dekker  could  speak  of  Christ  as  the 
first  gentleman  without  suggesting  gentile  to  any  one.  Yet 
it  remains  true  that  men  are  often  called  gentlemen  merely 
because  they  happen  to  be  high  born. 

With  such  a  history  the  gentleman  has  long  been  before 
the  world  of  letters.  In  Shakspere  the  necessity  of  being 
really  gentle  if  high  born  is  often  asserted;  it  is  the 
French  doctrine  of  noblesse  oblige.  In  our  own  time  John  Of  Vulgar- 
Ruskin  has  found  it  impossible  to  write  on  art  without  de-  lty'  p' 329- 
fining  to  himself  the  difference  between  gentlemanliness 
and  vulgarity,  for  some  artists  have  the  one  quality  and 
some  the  other.  In  the  course  of  a  chapter  on  Vulgarity,  in 
his  "Modern  Painters,"  Ruskin  analyzes  at  some  length  the 
nature  of  the  gentleman.  Like  Shakspere  he  throws  great 
weight  on  good  breeding,  even  in  the  sense  that  a  horse 

325 


The 
Young 
Montagu, 
P-  343- 


Tact, 
P-  345- 


Two  Gen- 
tlemen at 
Petersburg, 
p.  346. 


The 

Gentleman, 
P-  349- 


326  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

or  dog  is  well  bred.  Blood  will  tell,  even  in  a  chimney- 
sweep; an  old  story  to  this  effect  has  been  rehearsed  by 
Charles  Lamb.  And  Perdita,  in  Shakspere's  Winter's  Tale, 
proves  by  her  acts  that  if  a  shepherd  lass  is  a  princess  in 
disguise  she  behaves  like  the  king's  daughter.  It  is  only 
by  being  of  pure  race  that  a  man  can  develop  into  the  fine- 
ness of  fibre  and  feeling  which  distinguishes  the  courtier 
from  the  clown.  Sensitiveness  to  impression,  —  this  is  a 
prime  condition  of  gentlemanly  conduct,  and  this  is  exactly 
what  the  badly  bred  peasant  lacks.  The  peasant's  skin  is 
thick,  callous.  To  be  thin-skinned,  in  the  better  sense,  is 
what  makes  men  alive  to  the  rights  of  their  fellows. 
"Tact"  means  sense  of  touch;  and  tact,  according  to 
Emerson,  will  work  wonders  when  all  else  fails. 

Breeding  shows  itself  in  the  unerring  emphasis  that  the 
gentleman  lays  upon  the  really  important  matters  of  cour- 
tesy. An  ill-bred  man  is  often  punctilious  about  some 
absurd  form,  thinking  that  the  observance  of  this  shows 
great  knowledge  of  how  things  should  be  done.  Not  so 
the  two  gentlemen  whom  Mr.  Eggleston  tells  about. 
Though  officers  of  opposing  armies,  the  one  was  severely 
honorable  in  surrendering  a  captain  who  had  offended 
against  the  letter  of  the  truce-law,  the  other  equally  hon- 
orable in  refusing  to  punish  this  captain  for  a  mere 
inadvertence. 

The  real  test  of  gentlemanliness  lies  deeper  than  forms. 
One  may  obey  all  the  forms  and  yet  be  counted  what  the 
English  call  a  "cad,"  that  is,  an  unmanly,  selfish,  egotistic 
bore.  According  to  Cardinal  Newman,  it  is  almost  a  defi- 
nition of  a  gentleman  to  say  that  he  is  one  who  never  in- 
flicts pain.  Kindliness  and  consideration  are  qualities 
that  depend  on  a  knowledge  neither  of  etiquette  nor  of  the 
newest  fashions  in  dress. 

That  a  man  may  be  boorish  in  satins  or  in  shirt-sleeves 


THE   GENTLEMAN 


327 


is  exhibited  in  two  selections  in  this  chapter.  Shakspere's 
delicate  irony  impales,  like  a  fly  on  a  pin,  the  exquisite 
who  came  to  Hotspur  in  the  battlefield,  and  smiled  and 
talked  and  took  snuff  while  dead  men  were  carried  by. 
Mr.  Eggleston  tells  a  delightful  story  of  how  the  Southern 
cavalry  leader,  Stuart,  enforced  his  objections  to  a  sol- 
dier's appearing  in  shirt-sleeves  at  table  before  ladies. 
Contrast  with  Shakspere's  fop  and  Mr.  Eggleston's  slouches 
a  true  gentleman  of  the  battlefield,  Bret  Harte's  John 
Burns  of  Gettysburg.  The  old  beau  was  dressed  in  the 
style  of  a  hundred  years  since,  and  yet  as  he  stood  immov- 
able there,  picking  the  rebels  off,  the  gleam  of  his  old 
white  hat  afar  rallied  the  very  boys  who  had  mocked 
him. 

In  war  or  peace,  the  gentleman  is  often  a  hero.  His 
sense  of  humane  courtesy  may  be  so  highly  developed  that 
the  gentleman  must  some  day  choose  between  obeying  it 
and  losing  his  life.  This  is  the  sublime  alternative  which 
Mr.  Henry  Newbolt  celebrates  in  a  poem  on  Craven,  the 
hero  of  Mobile  Bay.  When  only  one  of  two  men  can  pass 
through  a  door  alive,  because  there  is  only  a  second  of 
time  to  do  it  in,  the  man  that  says  "After  you"  (as  Cap- 
tain Craven  did)  must  pay  for  it  with  his  life.  The  other 
man  may  be  as  brave  at  heart;  but  it  is  the  trained  gen- 
tleman who  speaks  first  and  ends  the  situation. 

Certain  forms  of  gentlemanliness  which  may  almost  be 
called  heroic,  are  found  among  savage  or  half-civilized 
races.  The  Arab  will  protect  with  his  life  the  guest  who 
has  eaten  his  salt.  The  North  American  Indian,  as 
Franklin  has  pointed  out,  will  not  under  any  provocation 
interrupt  another  when  speaking.  In  China  the  laws  of 
Confucius  forbid  a  son  to  approach  his  father  closely 
without  permission. 

According  to  Dr.  Theodore  Munger,  the  foundation  of 


A  Fop, 

P-  351. 


A  Breach 
of  Eti- 
quette, 
P-  353- 


Remarks 
concerning 
theSavages 
of  North 
America, 
P-  355- 


328 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


Omar  and 
the  Per- 
sian, p.  362. 


The  Octo- 
pus of  the 
Golden 
Isle,  p.  364. 


the  gentlemanly  character  is  truth.1  Thus,  the  story  told 
by  Sarah  Williams,  of  how  the  warrior  Omar  kept  his  word 
to  a  guest,  when  to  do  so  was  against  all  traditions  of  war, 
belongs  here  rather  than  in  the  preceding  chapter  on  war. 
The  Persian  captive  was  brought  before  the  victor  Omar 
and  told  that  he  must  die.  The  captive  thirsted  for  a  cup 
of  wine.  It  was  brought  him,  but  he  hesitated  to  drink  it, 
fearing  poison.  This  touched  the  victor's  pride,  and  he 
assured  the  Persian  that  his  life  was  safe  from  poison;  nay, 
it  was  safe  from  all  harm  until  he  should  have  slaked  his 
thirst.  The  Persian  smiled  and  poured  the  wine  upon  the 
ground.  At  this  ruse  a  shout  arose  that  he  should  be  slain. 
But  Omar  rose  to  the  occasion.  "Hold!  if  there  be  a 
sacred  thing,  it  is  the  warrior's  word." 

One  mark  of  the  gentleman  is  freedom  from  envy.  He 
is  alert  to  recognize  merit  even  in  the  friend  who  outstrips 
him  in  a  race.  The  "rooter"  who  cheers  when  the  other 
team  makes  a  false  play  does  an  ungentlemanly  thing.  The 
critic  who,  as  Pope  says  of  Addison,  "damns  with  faint 
praise  "  the  work  of  his  rival  reveals  the  vulgarity  of  envy. 
How  vigorously  Mr.  Theodore  Watts-Dunton  scores  this 
evil  in  his  allegory  of  the  Octopus ! 

Between  Shakspere's  time  and  Tennyson's,  English  lit- 
erature has  many  portraits  of  gentlemen.  In  the  early 
eighteenth  century,  Steele  sketched  the  character  of  Sir 
Roger  de  Coverley,  and  his  friend  Addison  completed  the 
picture.  Sir  Roger  is  the  ideal  country  gentleman  who 
has  a  care  for  all  his  dependents.  Goldsmith,  a  little  later, 
created  Beau  Tibbs,  the  gentleman  whose  cheerful  good 
manners  never  fail,  though  he  may  owe  his  family  a  meal. 
Early  in  our  own  century,  Scott  gave  us  his  Lord  Evandale, 
his  Guy  Mannering,  and  many  another  prince  of  courtesy. 


1  "  On  the  Threshold." 


THE    GENTLEMAN 


329 


Tennyson  wrote  a  long  cycle  of  poems  on  the  death  of 
his  friend  Hallam,  whose  exceptional  breeding  was  re- 
marked by  all  who  knew  him  —  by  Gladstone,  for  instance. 
The  one  hundred  and  eleventh  poem  of  In  Memoriam  The  Churl 
concerns  Arthur's  gentlemanliness.  The  poet  declares  JJ1^.1"*' 
that  the  man  who  is  churlish  in  spirit  cannot  hide  the  fact, 
though  he  be  by  blood  a  king.  But  Hallam  was  finer  in 
grain  than  anything  he  could  do;  was  more  than  all  the 
gentleness  he  seemed  to  be.  Whatever  he  did,  he  seemed 
perfectly  natural,  wholly  himself.  Yet  he  joined  in  all  the 
social  life  around  him,  to  which  he  brought  the  flower  of 
noble  manners  without  touch  of  narrowness  or  spite.  And 
thus  he  bore  without  abuse  the  grand  old  name  of  gentleman. 

To  Thackeray  the  name  of  gentleman  seemed  one  of  the 
noblest.  His  Colonel  Newcome  is  one  of  the  gracious  fig- 
ures that  cannot  be  spared  from  literature.  Thackeray 
closed  one  of  his  books  with  a  poem  called  The  End  of  the  The  End 
Play.  The  author  represents  himself  as  an  actor  after  a  °  5j£ Pay' 
performance.  He  bids  his  audience  good  night,  remem- 
bering that  they,  too,  have  parts  to  play,  in  real  life.  He 
wishes  them  well,  but,  whatever  may  betide,  wishes  them 
to  be  superior  to  their  fate.  The  race  is  not  always  to  the 
swift,  any  more  in  life  than  in  school.  Not  all  can  win, 
but  all  can  accept  their  fate  like  gentlemen. 


OF  VULGARITY 
John  Ruskin 

1.  Two  great  errors,  coloring,  or  rather  discoloring, 
severally,  the  minds  of  the  higher  and  lower  classes,  have 
sown  wide  dissension,  and  wider  misfortune,  through  the 
society  of  modern  days.  These  errors  are  in  our  modes 
of  interpreting  the  word  "gentleman." 


330  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Its  primal,  literal,  and  perpetual  meaning  is  "  a  man 
of  pure  race";  well  bred,  in  the  sense  that  a  horse  or 
dog  is  well  bred. 

The  so-called  higher  classes,  being  generally  of  purer 
race  than  the  lower,  have  retained  the  true  idea,  and  the  10 
convictions  associated  with  it;  but  are  afraid  to  speak  it 
out,  and  equivocate  about  it  in  public;  this  equivoca- 
tion mainly  proceeding  from  their  desire  to  connect 
another  meaning  with  it,  and  a  false  one;  —  that  of  "a 
man  living  in  idleness  on  other  people's  labor  ";  — with  15 
which  idea,  the  term  has  nothing  whatever  to  do. 

The  lower  classes,  denying  vigorously,  and  with  reason, 
the  notion  that  a  gentleman  means  an  idler,  and  rightly 
feeling  that  the  more  any  one  works,  the  more  of  a  gen- 
tleman he  becomes,  and  is  likely  to  become,  —  have  20 
nevertheless  got  little  of  the  good  they  otherwise  might, 
from  the  truth,  because,  with  it,  they  wanted  to  hold  a 
falsehood,  —  namely,  that  race  was  of  no  consequence. 
It  being  precisely  of  as  much  consequence  in  man  as  it 
is  in  any  other  animal.  25 

2.  The  nation  cannot  truly  prosper  till  both  these 
errors  are  finally  got  quit  of.  Gentlemen  have  to  learn 
that  it  is  no  part  of  their  duty  or  privilege  to  live  on 
other  people's  toil.  They  have  to  learn  that  there  is  no 
degradation  in  the  hardest  manual,  or  the  humblest  ser-  3° 
vile,  labor,  when  it  is  honest.  But  that  there  is  degra- 
dation, and  that  deep,  in  extravagance,  in  bribery,  in 
indolence,  in  pride,  in  taking  places  they  are  not  fit  for, 
or  in  coining  places  for  which  there  is  no  need.  It 
does  not  disgrace  a  gentleman  to  become  an  errand  boy,  35 
or  a  day  laborer;  but  it  disgraces  him  much  to  become 
a  knave,  or  a  thief.  And  knavery  is  not  the  less  knavery 
because  it  involves  large  interests,  nor  theft  the  less 
theft  because  it  is  countenanced  by  usage,  or  accom- 


THE    GENTLEMAN 


331 


panied  by  failure  in  undertaken  duty.     It  is  an  incom-  40 
parably  less  guilty  form  of  robbery  to  cut  a  purse  out  of 
a  man's  pocket,  than  to  take  it  out  of  his  hand  on  the 
understanding  that  you  are  to  steer  his  ship  up  channel, 
when  you  do  not  know  the  soundings. 

3.  On  the  other  hand,  the  lower  orders,  and  all  orders,   45 
have  to  learn  that  every  vicious  habit  and  chronic  disease 
communicates  itself  by  descent;  and  that  by  purity  of 
birth  the  entire  system  of  the  human  body  and  soul  may 
be .  gradually   elevated,    or    by  recklessness  of    birth, 
degraded;    until    there    shall    be  as  much  difference  50 
between  the  well-bred   and   ill-bred    human    creature 
(whatever    pains   be   taken   with    their    education)    as 
between  a  wolf-hound  and  the  vilest  mongrel  cur.     And 
the  knowledge  of  this  great  fact  ought  to  regulate  the 
education  of  our  youth,  and  the  entire  conduct  of  the  55 
nation. 

4.  Gentlemanliness,  however,  in  ordinary  parlance, 
must  be  taken  to  signify  those  qualities  which  are  usually 
the  evidence  of  high  breeding,  and  which,  so  far  as  they 
can  be  acquired,  it  should  be  every  man's  effort  to  60 
acquire;  or,  if  he  has  them  by  nature,  to  preserve  and 
exalt.  Vulgarity,  on  the  other  hand,  will  signify  quali- 
ties usually  characteristic  of  ill-breeding  which,  accord- 
ing to  his  power,  it  becomes  every  person's  duty  to 
subdue.     We  have  briefly  to  note  what  these  are.  65 

5.  A  gentleman's  first  characteristic  is  that  fineness 
of  structure  in  the  body,  which  renders  it  capable  of  the 
most  delicate  sensation;  and  of  structure  in  the  mind 
which  renders  it  capable  of  the  most  delicate  sympa- 
thies—  one  may  say,  simply,  "fineness  of  nature."  70 
This  is,  of  course,  compatible  with  heroic  bodily  strength 
and  mental  firmness;  in  fact,  heroic  strength  is  not 
conceivable  without  such  delicacy.    Elephantine  strength 


232  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

may-  drive  its  way  through  a  forest  and  feel  no  touch  of 
the  boughs;. but  the  white  skin  of  Homer's  Atrides  75 
would  have  felt  a  bent  rose-leaf,  yet  subdue  its  feeling 
in  glow  of  battle,  and  behave  itself  like  iron.  I  do  not 
mean  to  call  an  elephant  a  vulgar  animal;  but  if  you 
think  about  him  carefully  you  will  find  that  his  non- 
vulgarity  consists  in  such  gentleness  as  is  possible  to  80 
elephantine  nature ;  not  in  his  insensitive  hide,  nor  in 
his  clumsy  foot;  but  in  the  way  he  will  lift  his  foot  if 
a  child  lies  in  his  way;  and  in  his  sensitive  trunk,  and 
still  more  sensitive  mind,  and  capability  of  pique  on 
points  of  honor.  85 

6.  And,  though  Tightness  of  moral  conduct  is  ulti- 
mately the  great  purifier  of  race,  the  sign  of  nobleness 
is  not  in  this  Tightness  of  moral  conduct,  but  in  sensi- 
tiveness. When  the  make  of  the  creature  is  fine,  its 
temptations  are  strong,  as  well  as  its  perceptions;  it  is  go 
liable  to  all  kinds  of  impressions  from  without  in  their 
most  violent  form;  liable  therefore  to  be  abused  and 
hurt  by  all  kinds  of  rough  things  which  would  do  a 
coarser  creature  little  harm,  and  thus  to  fall  into  fright- 
ful wrong  if  its  fate  will  have  it  so.  Thus  David,  95 
coming  of  gentlest  as  well  as  royalest  race,  of  Ruth  as 
well  as  of  Judah,  is  sensitiveness  through  all  flesh  and 
spirit;  not  that  his  compassion  will  restrain  him  from 
murder  when  his  terror  urges  him  to  it;  nay,  he  is 
driven  to  the  murder  all  the  more  by  his  sensitiveness  100 
to  the  shame  which  otherwise  threatens  him.  But  when 
his  own  story  is  told  him  under  a  disguise,  though  only 
a  lamb  is  now  concerned,  his  passion  about  it  leaves 
him  no  time  for  thought.  "  The  man  shall  die  "  —  note 
the  reason  —  "  because  he  had  no  pity."  He  is  so  eager  105 
and  indignant  that  it  never  occurs  to  him  as  strange  that 
Nathan  hides  the  name.     This  is  true  gentleman.     A 


THE    GENTLEMAN 


333 


vulgar  man  would  assuredly  have  been  cautious,  and 
asked  "who  it  was?" 

7.  Hence  it  will  follow  that  one  of  the  probable  signs  no 
of  high-breeding  in  men  generally,  will  be  their  kind- 
ness and  mercifulness;  these  always  indicating  more  or 
less  fineness  of  make  in  the  mind;  and  miserliness  and 
cruelty  the  contrary;  hence  that  of  Isaiah:  "The  vile 
person  shall  no  more  be  called  liberal,  nor  the  churl  said  115 
to  be  bountiful."     But  a  thousand  things  may  prevent 
this  kindness  from  displaying  or  continuing  itself;  the 
mind  of  the  man  may  be  warped  so  as  to  bear  mainly  on 
his  own  interests,  and  then  all  his  sensibilities  will  take 
the  form  of  pride,  or  fastidiousness,  or  revengefulness;  120 
and  other  wicked,  but  not  ungentlemanly  tempers;  or, 
further,  they  may  run  into  utter  sensuality  and  covet- 
ousness,  if  he  is  bent  on  pleasure,  accompanied  with 
quite  infinite  cruelty  when  the  pride  is  wounded,  or  the 
passions    thwarted;  —  until   your    gentleman    becomes  125 
Ezzelin,  and  your  lady,  the  deadly  Lucrece;  yet  still 
gentleman  and  lady,  quite    incapable  of   making  any- 
thing else  of  themselves,  being  so  born. 

8.  A  truer  sign  of  breeding  than  mere  kindness  is 
therefore  sympathy;  a  vulgar  man  may  often  be  kind  in  130 
a  hard  way,  on  principle,  and  because  he  thinks  he 
ought  to  be;  whereas,  a  highly  bred  man,  even  when 
cruel,  will  be  cruel  in  a  softer  way,  understanding  and 
feeling  what  he  inflicts,  and  pitying  his  victim.  Only 
we  must  carefully  remember  that  the  quality  of  sym- 135 
pathy  a  gentleman  feels  can  never  be  judged  of  by  its 
outward  expression,  for  another  of  his  chief  character- 
istics is  apparent  reserve.     I  say  " apparent "  reserve; 

126.  Ezzelin,  a  character  in  Byron's  Lara,  treacherous,  revengeful,  and 
cruel.  Lucrece,  Lucretia  Borgia,  an  Italian  duchess  of  the  early  sixteenth 
century,  famous  as  a  poisoner. 


334  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

for  the  sympathy  is  real,  but  the  reserve  not :  a  perfect 
gentleman  is  never  reserved,  but  sweetly  and  entirely  i4o 
open,  so  far  as  it  is  good  for  others,  or  possible  that  he 
should  be.     In  a  great  many  respects  it  is  impossible 
that  he  should  be  open  except  to  men  of  his  own  kind. 
To  them,  he  can  open  himself,  by  a  word,  or  syllable, 
or  a  glance;  but  to  men  not  of  his  kind  he  cannot  open  i45 
himself,  though  he  tried  it  through  an  eternity  of  clear 
grammatical  speech.     By  the  very  acuteness  of  his  sym- 
pathy he  knows  how  much  of  himself  he  can  give  to 
anybody;   and   he   gives   that   much    frankly;  —  would 
always  be  glad  to  give  more  if  he  could,  but  is  obliged,  150 
nevertheless,  in  his  general  intercourse  with  the  world, 
to  be  a  somewhat   silent  person;    silence  is  to  most 
people,  he  finds,  less  reserved  than  speech.     Whatever 
he  said,  a  vulgar  man  would  misinterpret:   no  words 
that  he  could  use  would  bear  the  same  sense  to  the  vul- 155 
gar  man  that  they  do  to  him ;  if  he  used  any,  the  vulgar 
man  would  go  away  saying,   "  He  had  said  so  and  so, 
and  meant  so  and  so  "  (something  assuredly  he  never 
meant) ;  but  he  keeps  silence,  and  the  vulgar  man  goes 
away  saying,  "He  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  him."  160 
Which  is  precisely  the  fact,  and  the  only  fact  which  he 
is  anywise  able  to  announce  to  the  vulgar  man  con- 
cerning himself. 

9.  There  is  yet  another  quite  as  efficient  cause  of  the 
apparent  reserve  of  a  gentleman.  His  sensibility  being  165 
constant  and  intelligent,  it  will  be  seldom  that^  feeling 
touches  him,  however  acutely,  but  it  has  touched  him 
in  the  same  way  often  before,  and  in  some  sort  is  touch- 
ing him  always.  It  is  not  that  he  feels  little,  but  that  he 
feels  habitually;  a  vulgar  man  having  some  heart  at  the  170 
bottom  of  him,  if  you  can  by  talk  or  by  sight  fairly  force 
the  pathos  of  anything  down  to  his  heart,  will  be  excited 


THE    GENTLEMAN 


335 


about  it  and  demonstrative;  the  sensation  of  pity  being 
strange  to  him,  and  wonderful.     But  your  gentleman 
has  walked  in  pity  all  day  long;  the  tears  have  never  175 
been  out  of  his  eyes :  you  thought  the  eyes  were  bright 
only;   but  they  were  wet.     You  tell   him  a  sorrowful 
story,  and  his  countenance  does  not  change;  the  eyes 
can  but  be  wet  still;  he  does  not  speak  neither,  there 
being,  in  fact,  nothing  to  be  said,  only  something  to  be  180 
done;  some  vulgar  person,  beside  you  both,  goes  away 
saying,  "How  hard  he  is!"     Next  day  he  hears  that  the  • 
hard  person  has  put  good  end  to  the  sorrow  he  said 
nothing  about;  —  and  then  he  changes  his  wonder  and, 
exclaims,  "How  reserved  he  is!"  185 

10.  Self-command  is  often  thought  a  characteristic  of 
high-breeding :  and  to  a  certain  extent  it  is  so,  at  least 
it  is  one  of  the  means  of  forming  and  strengthening  char- 
acter; but  it  is  rather  a  way  of  imitating  a  gentleman 
than  a  characteristic  of  him;  a  true  gentleman  has  no  190 
need  of  self-command;  he  simply  feels  rightly  on  all 
occasions :  and  desiring  to  express  only  so  much  of  his 
feeling  as  it  is  right  to  express,  does  not  need  to  com- 
mand himself.  Hence  perfect  ease  is  indeed  charac- 
teristic of  him;  but  perfect  ease  is  inconsistent  with  195 
self-restraint.  Nevertheless  gentlemen,  so  far  as  they 
fail  of  their  own  ideal,  need  to  command  themselves, 
and  do  so;  while,  on  the  contrary,  to  feel  unwisely,  and 
to  be  unable  to  restrain  the  expression  of  the  unwise 
feeling  is  vulgarity;  and  yet  even  then,  the  vulgarity,  200 
at  its  root,  is  not  in  the  mistimed  expression,  but  in  the 
unseemly  feeling;  and  when  we  find  fault  with  a  vulgar 
person  for  "exposing  himself,"  it  is  not  his  openness, 
but  clumsiness;  and  yet  more  the  want  of  sensibility  to 
his  own  failure,  which  we  blame;  so  that  still  the  vul- 205 
garity  resolves  itself  into  want  of  sensibility.     Also,  it 


336  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

is  to  be  noted  that  great  powers  of  self-restraint  may  be 
attained  by  very  vulgar  persons,  when  it  suits  their 
purposes. 

ii.    Closely,  but  strangely,  connected  with  this  open- 210 
ness  is  that  form  of  truthfulness  which  is  opposed  to 
cunning,    yet  not  opposed   to   falsity  absolute.      And 
herein  is  a  distinction  of  great  importance. 

Cunning  signifies  especially  a  habit  or  gift  of  over- 
reaching, accompanied  with  enjoyment  and  a  sense  of  215 
superiority.  It  is  associated  with  small  and  dull  con- 
ceit, and  with  an  absolute  want  of  sympathy  or  affec- 
tion. Its  essential  connection  with  vulgarity  may  be  at 
once  exemplified  by  the  expression  of  the  butcher's  dog 
in  Landseer's  "  Low  Life."  Cruikshank's  " Noah  Clay-  220 
pole,"  in  the  illustrations  to  "Oliver Twist,"  in  the  inter- 
view with  the  Jew,  is,  however,  still  more  characteristic. 
It  is  the  intensest  rendering  of  vulgarity  absolute  and 
utter  with  which  I  am  acquainted. 

The  truthfulness  which  is  opposed  to  cunning  ought,  225 
perhaps,  rather  to  be  called  the  desire  of  truthfulness; 
it  consists  more  in  unwillingness  to  deceive  than  in  not 
deceiving,  —  an  unwillingness  implying  sympathy  with 
and  respect  for  the  person  deceived;  and  a  fond  observ- 
ance of  truth  up  to  the  possible  point,  as  in  a  good  230 
soldier's  mode  of  retaining  his  honor  through  a  ruse-de- 
guerre.     A  cunning  person  seeks  for  opportunities  to 
deceive;  a  gentleman  shuns  them.     A  cunning  person 
triumphs  in  deceiving;  a  gentleman  is  humiliated  by 
his  success,  or  at  least  by  so  much  of  the  success  as  is  235 
dependent  merely  on  the  falsehood,  and   not   on   his 
intellectual  superiority. 

12.    The  absolute  disdain  of  all  lying  belongs  rather 
to  Christian  chivalry  than  to  mere  high  breeding;  as 

231.  ruse-de-guerre,  French  for  ruse  of  war. 


THE    GENTLEMAN 


337 


connected  merely  with  this  latter,  and  with  general  240 
refinement  and  courage,  the  exact  relations  of  truthful- 
ness may  be  best  studied  in  the  well-trained  Greek 
mind.  The  Greeks  believed  that  mercy  and  truth  were 
co-relative  virtues  —  cruelty  and  falsehood  co-relative 
vices.  But  they  did  not  call  necessary  severity,  cruelty;  245 
nor  necessary  deception,  falsehood.  It  was  needful 
sometimes  to  slay  men,  and  sometimes  to  deceive  them. 
When  this  had  to  be  done,  it  should  be  done  well  and 
thoroughly;  so  that  to  direct  a  spear  well  to  its  mark,  or 
a  lie  well  to  its  end,  was  equally  the  accomplishment  of  250 
a  perfect  gentleman.  Hence,  in  the  pretty  diamond- 
cut-diamond  scene  between  Pallas  and  Ulysses,  when 
she  receives  him  on  the  coast  of  Ithaca,  the  goddess 
laughs  delightedly  at  her  hero's  good  lying,  and  gives 
him  her  hand  upon  it;  showing  herself  then  in  her 255 
woman's  form,  as  just  a  little  more  than  his  match. 
"Subtle  would  he  be,  and  stealthy,  who  should  go 
beyond  thee  in  deceit,  even  were  he  a  god,  thou  many- 
witted!  What!  here  in  thine  own  land,  too,  wilt  thou 
not  cease  from  cheating?  Knowest  thou  not  me,  Pallas 260 
Athena,  maid  of  Jove,  who  am  with  thee  in  all  thy 
labors,  and  gave  thee  favor  with  the  Phaeacians,  and 
keep  thee,  and  have  come  now  to  weave  cunning  with 
thee?"  But  how  completely  this  kind  of  cunning  was 
looked  upon  as  a  part  of  a  man's  power,  and  not  as  a  265 
diminution  of  faithfulness,  is  perhaps  best  shown  by  the 
single  line  of  praise  in  which  the  high  qualities  of  his 
servant  are  summed  up  by  Chremulus  in  the  Plutus  — 
"  Of  all  my  house  servants,  I  hold  you  to  be  the  faith- 
fullest,  and  the  greatest  cheat  (or  thief)."  270 

13.  Thus,  the  primal  difference  between  honorable 
and  base  lying  in  the  Greek  mind  lay  in  honorable  pur- 
pose.    A  man  who  used  his  strength  wantonly  to  hurt 


338 


STUDY   OF  LITERATURE 


others  was  a  monster;  so,  also,  a  man  who  used  his 
cunning  wantonly  to  hurt  others.  Strength  and  cunning  275 
were  to  be  used  only  in  self-defence,  or  to  save  the 
weak,  and  then  were  alike  admirable.  This  was  their 
first  idea.  Then  the  second,  and  perhaps  the  more 
essential,  difference  between  noble  and  ignoble  lying  in 
the  Greek  mind,  was  that  the  honorable  lie  —  or,  if  we  280 
may  use  the  strange,  yet  just  expression,  the  true  lie  — 
knew  and  confessed  itself  for  such  —  was  ready  to  take 
the  full  responsibility  of  what  it  did.  As  the  sword 
answered  for  its  blow,  so  the  lie  for  its  snare.  But  what 
the  Greeks  hated  with  all  their  heart  was  the  false  lie;  285 
the  lie  that  did  not  know  itself,  feared  to  confess  itself, 
which  slunk  to  its  aim  under  a  cloak  of  truth,  and  sought 
to  do  liars'  work,  and  yet  not  take  liars'  pay,  excusing 
itself  to  the  conscience  by  quibble  and  quirk.  Hence 
the  great  expression  of  Jesuit  principle  by  Euripides,  290 
"The  tongue  has  sworn,  but  not  the  heart,"  was  a  sub- 
ject of  execration  throughout  Greece,  and  the  satirists 
exhausted  their  arrows  on  it  —  no  audience  was  ever 
tired  hearing  (to  EvptinBeLov  ixdyo)  "that  Euripidean 
thing  "  brought  to  shame.  295 

14.  And  this  is  especially  to  be  insisted  on  in  the 
early  education  of  young  people.  It  should  be  pointed 
out  to  them  with  continual  earnestness  that  the  essence 
of  lying  is  in  deception,  not  in  words;  a  lie  may  be  told 
by  silence,  by  equivocation,  by  the  accent  on  a  syllable,  300 
by  a  glance  of  the  eye  attaching  a  peculiar  significance 
to  a  sentence;  and  all  these  kinds  of  lies  are  worse  and 


290.  Jesuit.  The  Society  of  Jesus,  founded  by  Loyola  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  did  a  great  deal  of  good  and  a  great  deal  of  harm.  Jesuitical  is 
sometimes  used  to  mean  hypocritical,  because  the  Jesuits  believed  that  lying 
is  excusable  if  it  accomplishes  good.  Euripides,  a  Greek  tragic  poet,  born 
480  B.C. 


THE    GENTLEMAN 


339 


baser  by  many  degrees  than  a  lie  plainly  worded;  so 
that  no  form  of  blinded  conscience  is  so  far  sunk  as  that 
which  comforts  itself  for  having  deceived,  because  the  305 
deception  was  by  gesture  or  silence,  instead  of  utterance; 
and,  finally,  according  to  Tennyson's  deep  and  tren- 
chant line,  "  A  lie  which  is  half  a  truth  is  ever  the  worst 
of  lies." 

15.  Although,  however,  ungenerous  cunning  is  usually  310 
so  distinct  an  outward  manifestation  of  vulgarity,  that 

I  name  it  separately  from  insensibility,  it  is  in  truth 
only  an  effect  of  insensibility,  producing  want  of  affec- 
tion to  others,  and  blindness  to  the  beauty  of  truth. 
The  degree  in  which  political  subtlety  in  men  such  as  315 
Richelieu,    Machiavel,   or  Metternich,   will  efface  the 
gentleman,  depends  on  the  selfishness  of  political  pur- 
pose to  which  the  cunning  is  directed,  and  on  the  base 
delight  taken  in  its  use.     The  command,  "  Be  ye  wise 
as  serpents,  harmless  as  doves,"  is  the  ultimate  expres-320 
sion  of  this  principle,  misunderstood  usually  because 
the  word  "  wise  "  is  referred  to  the  intellectual  power 
instead  of  the  subtlety  of  the  serpent.     The  serpent  has 
very   little   intellectual   power,   but  according   to   that 
which  it  has,  it  is  yet,  as  of  old,  the  subtlest  of  the  beasts  325 
of  the  field. 

16.  Another  great  sign  of  vulgarity  is  also,  when 
traced  to  its  root,  another  phase  of  insensibility,  namely, 
the  undue  regard  to  appearances  and  manners,  as  in  the 
households  of  vulgar  persons,  of  all  stations,  and  the  330 
assumption  of  behavior,  language,  or  dress  unsuited  to 
them,  by  persons  in  inferior   stations  of   life.     I  say 

316.  Richelieu,  born  1585,  was  the  famous  cardinal  who  ruled  France 
under  Louis  XIII.  Machiavel,  Machiavelli,  b.  1469,  was  a  Florentine 
writer  on  the  art  of  politics.  Metternich,  b.  1773,  was  the  diplomatist  on 
whom  Francis  I.  of  Austria  depended. 


340  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

"undue"  regard  to  appearances,  because  in  the  undue- 
ness  consists,  of  course,  the  vulgarity.     It  is  due  and 
wise  in  some  sort  to  care  for  appearances,  in  another  335 
sort  undue  and  unwise.     Wherein  lies  the  difference? 

At  first  one  is  apt  to  answer  quickly :  the  vulgarity  is 
simply  in  pretending  to  be  what  you  are  not.     But  that 
answer  will  not  stand.     A  queen  may  dress  like  a  wait- 
ing maid,  — perhaps  succeed,  if  she  chooses,  in  passing  34o 
for  one;  but  she  will  not,  therefore,  be  vulgar;  nay,  a 
waiting  maid  may  dress  like  a  queen,  and  pretend  to 
be  one,  and  yet  need  not  be  vulgar,  unless  there  is 
inherent  vulgarity  in  her.     In  Scribe's  very  absurd  but 
very  amusing  "Reined'unjour,"  a  milliner's  girl  sustains  345 
the  part  of  a  queen  for  a  day.     She  several  times  amazes 
and  disgusts  her  courtiers  by  her  straightforwardness; 
and  once  or  twice  very  nearly  betrays  herself  to  her 
maids  of  honor  by  an  unqueenly  knowledge  of  sewing; 
but  she  is  not  in  the  least  vulgar,  for  she  is  sensitive,  350 
simple,  and  generous,  and  a  queen  could  be  no  more. 

17.  Is  the  vulgarity,  then,  only  in  trying  to  play  a 
part  you  cannot  play,  so  as  to  be  continually  detected? 
No;  a  bad  amateur  actor  may  be  continually  detected 

in  his  part,  but  yet  continually  detected  to  be  a  gentle-  355 
man :  a  vulgar  regard  to  appearances  has  nothing  in  it 
necessarily  of  hypocrisy.  You  shall  know  a  man  not  to 
be  a  gentleman  by  the  perfect  and  neat  pronunciation  of 
his  words :  but  he  does  not  pretend  to  pronounce  accu- 
rately; he  does  pronounce  accurately,  the  vulgarity  is  in  360 
the  real  (not  assumed)  scrupulousness. 

18.  It  will  be  found  on  further  thought,  that  a  vulgar 
regard   for   appearances   is,    primarily,    a   selfish   one, 
resulting,  not  out  of  a  wish  to  give  pleasure  (as  a  wife's 
wish  to  make  herself  beautiful  for  her  husband),  but  out  365 
of  an  endeavor  to  mortify  others,  or  attract  for  pride's 


THE   GENTLEMAN 


341 


sake;  —  the  common  "keeping  up  appearances"  of 
society,  being  a  mere  selfish  struggle  of  the  vain  with 
the  vain.  But  the  deepest  stain  of  the  vulgarity  depends 
on  this  being  done,  not  selfishly  only,  but  stupidly,  with-  370 
out  understanding  the  impression  which  is  really  pro- 
duced nor  the  relations  of  importance  between  oneself 
and  others,  so  as  to  suppose  that  their  attention  is  fixed 
upon  us,  when  we  are  in  reality  ciphers  in  their  eyes  — 
all  which  comes  of  insensibility.  Hence  pride  simple  375 
is  not  vulgar  (the  looking  down  on  others  because  of 
their  true  inferiority  to  us),  nor  vanity  simple  (the  desire 
of  praise),  but  conceit  simple  (the  attribution  to  our- 
selves of  qualities  we  have  not),  is  always  so.  In  cases 
of  over-studied  pronunciation,  etc.,  there  is  insensi-380 
bility,  first,  in  the  person's  thinking  more  of  himself 
than  of  what  he  is  saying;  and,  secondly,  in  his  not 
having  musical  fineness  of  ear  enough  to  feel  that  his 
talking  is  uneasy  and  strained. 

19.  Finally,  vulgarity  is  indicated  by  coarseness  of  385 
language  or  manners,  only  so  far  as  this  coarseness  had 
been  contracted  under  circumstances  not  necessarily 
producing  it.  The  illiterateness  of  a  Spanish  or  Cala- 
brian  peasant  is  not  vulgar,  because  they  had  never  an 
opportunity  of  acquiring  letters;  but  the  illiterateness  390 
of  an  English  school-boy  is.  .  .  . 

20.  So  also  of  personal  defects,  those  only  are  vulgar 
which  imply  insensibility  or  dissipation. 

There  is  no  vulgarity  in  the  emaciation  of  Don  Quixote, 
the  deformity  of  the  Black  Dwarf,  or  the  corpulence  of  395 
Falstaff;  but  much  in  the  same  personal  characters,  as 
they  are  seen  in  Uriah  Heep,  Quilp,  and  Chadband. 

395.  The  Black  Dwarf  is  a  character  in  Scott's  novel  of  the  same 
name.  397.  Uriah  Heep,  Quilp,  and  Chadband  are  vulgar  characters  drawn 
by  Dickens. 


342  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

21.  One  of  the  most  curious  minor  questions  in  this 
matter  is  respecting  the  vulgarity  of  excessive  neatness, 
complicating  itself  with  inquiries  into  the  distinction  400 
between  base  neatness,  and  the  perfectness  of  good 
execution  in  the  fine  arts.  It  will  be  found  on  final 
thought  that  precision  and  exquisiteness  of  arrangement 
are  always  noble;  but  become  vulgar  only  when  they 
arise  from  an  equality  (insensibility)  of  temperament,  405 
which  is  incapable  of  fine  passion,  and  is  set  ignobly, 
and  with  a  dullard  mechanism,  on  accuracy  in  vile 
things.  In  the  finest  Greek  coins,  the  letters  of  the 
inscriptions  are  purposely  coarse  and  rude,  while  the 
relievi  are  wrought  with  inestimable  care.  But  in  an  4i0 
English  coin,  the  letters  are  the  best  done,  and  the  whole 
is  unredeemably  vulgar.  In  a  picture  of  Titian's,  an 
inserted  inscription  will  be  complete  in  the  lettering,  as 
all  the  rest  is;  because  it  costs  Titian  very  little  more 
trouble  to  draw  rightly  than  wrongly,  and  in  him,  there- 4i5 
fore,  impatience  with  the  letters  would  be  vulgar,  as  in  the 
Greek  sculptor  of  the  coin,  patience  would  have  been. 
For  the  engraving  of  a  letter  accurately  is  difficult  work, 
and  his  time  must  have  been  unworthily  thrown  away. 

22.  All  the  different  impressions  connected  with429 
negligence  or  foulness  depend,  in  like  manner,  on  the 
degree  of  insensibility  implied.  Disorder  in  a  drawing- 
room  is  vulgar,  in  an  antiquary's  study,  not;  the  black 
battle-stain  on  a  soldier's  face  is  not  vulgar,  but  the 
dirty  face  of  a  housemaid  is.  425 

And  lastly,  courage,  so  far  as  it  is  a  sign  of  race,  is 
peculiarly  the  mark  of  a  gentleman  or  a  lady :  but  it 
becomes  vulgar  if  rude  or  insensitive,  while  timidity  is 
not  vulgar,  if  it  be  a  characteristic  of  race  or  fineness 
of  make.  A  fawn  is  hot  vulgar  in  being  timid,  nor  a  430 
crocodile  "gentle"  because  courageous. 


THE    GENTLEMAN  343 

23.  Without  following  the  inquiry  into  further  detail, 
we  may  conclude  that  vulgarity  consists  in  a  deadness 
of  the  heart  and  body,  resulting  from  prolonged,  and 
especially  from  inherited  conditions  of  "degeneracy," 435 
or  literally  "un-racing"; —  gentlemanliness  being 
another  word  for  an  intense  humanity.  And  vulgarity 
shows  itself  primarily  in  dulness  of  heart,  not  in  rage 
or  cruelty,  but  in  inability  to  feel  or  conceive  noble 
character  or  emotion.  This  is  its  essential,  pure,  and  44c 
most  fatal  form.  Dulness  of  bodily  sense  and  general 
stupidity,  with  such  forms  of  crime  as  peculiarly  issue 
from  stupidity,  are  its  material  manifestation. 


THE  YOUNG  MONTAGU 
Charles  Lamb 

Yet  must  I  confess,  that  from  the  mouth  of  a  true 
sweep  a  display  (even  to  ostentation)  of  those  white  and 
shining  ossifications,  strikes  me  as  an  agreeable  anomaly 
in  manners,  and  an  allowable  piece  of  foppery.     It  is,  as 


when 

A  sable  cloud 
Turns  forth  her  silver  lining  on  the  night. 

It  is  like  some  remnant  of  gentry  not  quite  extinct ;  a 
badge  of  better  days ;  a  hint  of  nobility  —  and,  doubtless, 
under  the  obscuring  darkness  and  double  night  of  their 
forlorn  disguisement,  oftentimes  lurketh  good  blood  and 
gentle  conditions,  derived  from  lost  ancestry  and  a  lapsed 
pedigree.  The  premature  apprenticements  of  these  ten- 
der victims  give  but  too  much  encouragement,  I  fear,  to 
clandestine  and  almost  infantile  abductions;  the  seeds 
of  civility  and  true  courtesy,  so  often  discernible  in  these 
young  grafts  (not  otherwise  to  be  accounted  for),  plainly 


5 


344  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

hint  at  some  forced  adoptions;  many  noble  Rachels, 
mourning  for  their  children  even  in  our  days,  counte- 
nance the  fact ;  the  tales  of  fairy-spiriting  may  shadow  20 
a  lamentable  verity,  and  the  recovery  of  the  young  Mon- 
tagu be  but  a  solitary  instance  of  good  fortune  out  of 
many  irreparable  and  hopeless  defoliations. 

In  one  of  the  state  beds  at  Arundel  Castle,  a  few  years 
since  —  under  a  ducal  canopy —  (that  seat  of  the  How-  25 
ards  is  an  object  of  curiosity  to  visitors,  chiefly  for  its 
beds,  in  which  the  late  duke  was  especially  a  connois- 
seur) —  encircled  with  curtains  of  delicatest  crimson,  with 
starry  coronets  inwoven  —  was  discovered  by  chance,  after 
all  methods  of  search  had  failed,  at  noonday,  fast  asleep,  30 
a  lost  chimney-sweeper.    The  little  creature,  having  some- 
how confounded  his  passage  among  the  intricacies  of  those 
lordly  chimneys,  by  some  unknown  aperture  had  alighted 
upon  this  magnificent  chamber ;  and,  tired  with  his  tedious 
explorations,  was  unable  to  resist  the  delicious  invitement  35 
to  repose  which  he  there  saw  exhibited;   so   creeping 
between  the  sheets  very  quietly,  laid  his  black  head  upon 
the  pillow,  and  slept  like  a  young  Howard. 

Such  is  the  account  given  to  the  visitors  at  the  Castle. 
But  I  cannot  help  seeming  to  perceive  a  confirmation  of  40 
what  I  have  just  hinted  at  in  this  story.  A  high  instinct 
was  at  work  in  the  case,  or  I  am  mistaken.  Is  it  probable 
that  a  poor  child  of  that  description,  with  whatever  weari- 
ness he  might  be  visited,  would  have  ventured,  under  such 
a  penalty  as  he  would  be  taught  to  expect,  to  uncover  the  45 
sheets  of  a  duke's  bed,  and  deliberately  to  lay  himself 
down  between  them,  when  the  rug  or  the  carpet  pre- 
sented an  obvious  couch,  still  far  above  his  pretensions 
—  is  this  probable,  I  would  ask,  if  the  great  power  of 

23.   defiliations,  a  word  of  Lamb's  impromptu  coinage,  to  mean  the  loss 
of  children  by  kidnapping. 


THE   GENTLEMAN  345 

nature,  which  I  contend  for,  had  not  been  manifested  50 
within  him,  prompting  to  the  adventure  ?     Doubtless  this 
young  nobleman  (for  such  my  mind  misgives  me  that  he 
must  be)  was  allured  by  some  memory,  not  amounting  to 
full  consciousness,  of  his  condition  in  infancy,  when  he 
was  used  to  be  lapped  by  his  mother,  or  his  nurse,  in  just  55 
such  sheets  as  he  there  found,  into  which  he  was  now 
but  creeping  back  as  into   his   proper  Incunabula  and 
resting-place.     By  no  other  theory  than  by  this  sentiment 
of  a  preexistent  state  (as  I  may  call  it)  can  I  explain  a 
deed  so  venturous,  and  indeed  upon  any  other  system  so  60 
indecorous,  in  this  tender,  but  unseasonable,  sleeper. 

Is  the  diction  modern  or  archaic  ?  Lamb's  favorite  authors  were  those 
of  Shakspere's  time,  and  he  was  fond  of  a  partly  serious,  partly  playful,  use 
of  pompous  terms,  in  imitation  of  the  prose  writers  of  the  sixteenth  and 
seventeenth  centuries. 

TACT 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

What  boots  it,  thy  virtue, 
1      What  profit  thy  parts, 

While  one  thing  thou  lackest,  — 
i     The  art  of  all  arts  ? 

The  only  credentials,  5 

Passport  to  success  j 
Opens  castle  and  parlor,  — 

Address,  man,  Address. 

The  maiden  in  danger 

Was  saved  by  the  swain ;  10 

His  stout  arm  restored  her 

To  Broadway  again. 

2.  Parts  is  an  old  expression  for  natural  abilities.  5,  7.  Note  the  ellip- 
sis; address  is  (credentials),  then  address  (opens). 


346 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

The  maid  would  reward  him,  — 

Gay  company  come,  — 
They  laugh,  she  laughs  with  them ;  15 

He  is  moonstruck  and  dumb. 

This  clinches  the  bargain ; 

Sails  out  of  the  bay ; 
Gets  the  vote  in  the  senate, 

Spite  of  Webster  and  Clay.  20 

Has  for  genius  no  mercy, 

For  speeches  no  heed ; 
It  lurks  in  the  eyebeam, 

Its  leaps  to  its  deed. 

Church,  market,  and  tavern,  25 

Bed  and  board,  it  will  sway. 
It  has  no  to-morrow, 

It  ends  with  to-day. 

18.  Perhaps  this  means  that  but  for  the  tact  that  clinches  bargains, 
there  would  be  no  commerce ;  every  ship  that  sets  sail  means  so  much 
tact.  23.  Is  this  true  ?  Can  the  eye  say  things  that  the  tongue  cannot  ? 
24.  That  is,  tact  comes  in  play  when  something  must  be  done  quickly,  as 
when  danger  is  averted  by  a  tactful  answer  made  instantly. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  AT  PETERSBURG 

George  Cary  Eggleston 

At  that  point  where  the  great  mine  was  blown  up  at 
Petersburg,  the  lines  of  the  two  armies  were  within  fifty 
yards  of  each  other. 

In  the  fearful  slaughter  that  ensued,  the  space  between 
the  rival  breastworks  was  literally  piled  high  with  dead 


THE   GENTLEMAN  347 

men,  lying  one  on  top  of  the  other.  Only  in  one  other 
place,  namely,  at  Cold  Harbor,  was  there  ever  so  much 
of  slaughter  within  so  small  a  space. 

It  was  evident,  apart  from  all  considerations  of  decency, 
that  for  the  comfort  of  both  sides  some  arrangement  must  10 
be  made  for  the  burial  of  these  dead  men.     Neither  side 
could  have  lived  long  in  its  works  otherwise. 

Accordingly,  a  cartel  was  arranged  between  General 
Grant  and  General  Lee.      It  was  stipulated  that  there 
should  be  a  cessation  of  hostilities  for  a  specified  num-   15 
ber  of  hours  for  the  purpose  of  burying  the  dead. 

It  was  arranged  that  two  lines  should  be  formed  twelve 
feet  apart  in  the  middle  of  the  space  between  the  works ; 
that  one  line  should  be  composed  of  Federal  sentinels, 
the  other  of  Confederates ;  that  the  space  between  these  20 
two  lines  should  be  a  neutral  ground,  accessible  to  both 
sides  j  but  that  no  person  from  either  side  should  cross 
the  line  established  by  the  other  side.  It  was  agreed 
that  the  dead  men  who  had  fallen  within  the  Confeder- 
ate line  should  be  dragged  to  the  neutral  ground  by  Con-  25 
federate  soldiers,  and  there  delivered  to  Federal  troops 
to  be  carried  within  their  lines  for  burial. 

There  were  no  Confederate  dead  there,  of  course.    All 
of  our  men  who  had  been  killed  were  killed  within  our 
own  works.     So  every  corpse  on  our  side  of  the  neutral  30 
ground  was  dragged  by  a  rope  to  that  common  space 
and  there  delivered  to  its  official  friends. 

It  was  specially  stipulated  in  the  cartel  that  no  officer 
or  soldier  on  either  side  should  take  advantage  of  the 
truce  to  appropriate  property  of  any  kind  lying  upon  the  35 
field,  whether  upon  the  one  or  the  other  side  of  the  neu- 
tral ground.  Swords,  pistols,  sashes,  everything  of  the 
kind  must,  by  agreement,  be  left  precisely  where  they 
were. 


34g  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Many  of  us,  of  course,  went  out  to  the  neutral  ground  40 
to  look  over  the  situation.     There  was  a  certain   grue- 
some delight  even  in  standing  upon  ground,  where  for 
a  month  or  more  it  had  been  impossible  for  a  twig  or 
a  blade  of  grass  to  grow  without  instant  decapitation,  and 
where  for  months  to  come  it  would  be  equally  impossible  45 
for  anything  having  material  substance  to  exist.     The  very 
turf  itself  had  been  literally  skinned  from  the  surface  of 
the  earth  by  a  continuous  scything  of  bullets.      For  a 
month  it  had  been  impossible  for  any  soldier  on  either 
-side  even  to  shoot  over  the  breastworks,  for  he  who  tried  50 
to  do  so  was  sure  to  be  instantly  destroyed.     The  fire  on 
either  side  had  to  be  through  carefully  sand-bag-guarded 
port-holes.     And  even  the  port-holes  had  to  be  protected 
by  hanging  blankets  behind  them  to  conceal  the  sky,  lest 
their  darkening  by  a  human  head  should  invite  a  hail-  55 
storm  of  alert  and  waiting  bullets. 

Of  course  every  man  who,  during  the  truce,  wandered 
over  this  perilous  space  for  an  hour,  must  have  been 
impressed,  if  he  had  any  imagination  at  all,  with  the 
historical  interest  of  the  occasion.  Every  one  desired  60 
naturally  to  carry  away  some  memento  of  the  event. 
Only  one  man  yielded  to  this  impulse,  and  he  did  so 
thoughtlessly.  He  was  a  captain  of  Confederate 
infantry. 

He  saw  lying  on  the  ground  a  star  that  had  been  cut  65 
by  a  bullet  from  some  officer's  coat  collar. 

It  was  a  worthless  bawble,  valuable  only  as  a  souvenir. 
He  picked  it  up  and  pocketed  it.  Instantly  he  was 
arrested  by  the  Confederate  guards  and  taken  before  the 
officer  in  command  of  the  Confederate  line.  7° 

That  officer  immediately  and  with  great  dignity  went 
to  the  Federal  commander  and  said :  "  I  desire  under 
the  terms  of  the  cartel  to  surrender  this  officer  to  you 


THE    GENTLEMAN 


349 


for  such  punishment  as  a  court-martial  of  your  army  may 
see  fit  to  inflict.     He  has  violated  the  cartel."  75 

"What  has  he  done?"  asked  the  Federal  officer. 

"  He  has  taken  possession  of  property  left  upon  the 
field,  contrary  to  the  terms  of  the  truce." 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me,"  asked  the  Federal  offi- 
cer, "  the  exact  nature  and  extent  of  his  offence?  "  80 

A  little  explanation  followed,  the  Confederate  com- 
mander remaining  stern  and  uncompromising  in  his 
determination  to  deliver  the  man  for  punishment,  asking 
no  favors  or  mercies  for  him,  and  offering  no  apologies 
for  that  which  he  deemed  a  breach  of  honor.  85 

When  the  Federal  officer  had  learned  the  exact  facts 
of  the  situation,  he  made  the  usual  military  salute  and 
said  to  the  Confederate  commander;  "I  thank  you. 
You  have  been  very  honorable  and  very  punctilious,  but 
the  officer's  fault  has  been  merely  one  of  inadvertence.  90 
I  beg  to  return  him  to  you  with  the  assurance  that  we 
have  no  desire  to  punish  so  brave  a  man  as  he  must  be, 
in  order  to  hold  his  commission  in  your  army,  for  an  act 
that  involved  no  intention  of  wrong." 

Here  were  two  brave   men  —  two   gentlemen  —  met.  95 
Naturally  they  understood  each  other. 

Examine  the  paragraphing  of  this  story,  and  say  what  paragraphs  might 
be  combined. 


THE  GENTLEMAN 
John  Henry,  Cardinal  Newman 

Hence  it  is  that  it  is  almost  a  definition  of  a  gentle- 
man to  say  he  is  one  who  never  inflicts  pain.  This 
description  is  both  refined  and,  as  far  as  it  goes,  accurate. 
He  is  mainly  occupied  in  merely  removing  the  obstacles 
which  hinder  the  free  and  unembarrassed  action  of  those     5 


o,;0  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

about  him  j  and  he  concurs  with  their  movements  rather 
than  takes  the  initiative  himself.  His  benefits  may  be 
considered  as  parallel  to  what  are  called  comforts  or 
conveniences  in  arrangements  of  a  personal  nature  :  like 
an  easy-chair  or  a  good  fire,  which  do  their  part  in  dis-  10 
pelling  cold  and  fatigue,  though  nature  provides  both 
means  of  rest  and  animal  heat  without  them.  The  true 
gentleman  in  like  manner  carefully  avoids  whatever  may 
cause  a  jar  or  a  jolt  in  the  minds  of  those  with  whom  he 
is  cast;  —  all  clashing  of  opinion,  or  collision  of  feeling,  15 
all  restraint,  or  suspicion,  or  gloom,  or  resentment ;  his 
great  concern  being  to  make  every  one  at  their  ease  and 
at  home.  He  has  his  eyes  on  all  his  company;  he  is 
tender  towards  the  bashful,  gentle  towards  the  distant, 
and  merciful  towards  the  absurd ;  he  can  recollect  to  20 
whom  he  is  speaking;  he  guards  against  unseasonable 
allusions,  or  topics  which  may  irritate;  he  is  seldom 
prominent  in  conversation,  and  never  wearisome.  He 
makes  light  of  favors  while  he  does  them,  and  seems  to 
be  receiving  when  he  is  conferring.  He  never  speaks  of  25 
himself  except  when  compelled,  never  defends  himself 
by  a  mere  retort,  he  has  no  ears  for  slander  or  gossip, 
is  scrupulous  in  imputing  motives  to  those  who  interfere 
with  him,  and  interprets  everything  for  the  best.  He 
is  never  mean  or  little  in  his  disputes,  never  takes  unfair  30 
advantage,  never  mistakes  personalities  or  sharp  sayings 
for  arguments,  or  insinuates  evil  which  he  dare  not  say 
out.  From  a  long-sighted  prudence,  he  observes  the 
maxim  of  the  ancient  sage,  that  we  should  ever  conduct 
ourselves  towards  our  enemy  as  if  he  were  one  day  to  be  35 
our  friend.  He  has  too  much  good  sense  to  be  affronted 
at  insults,  he  is  too  well  employed  to  remember  injuries, 
and  too  indolent  to  bear  malice.  He  is  patient,  forbear- 
ing, and  resigned,  on  philosophical  principles ;   he  sub- 


THE    GENTLEMAN  35  \ 

mits  to   pain,  because  it  is  inevitable,  to  bereavement,  40 
because   it   is   irreparable,  and  to  death,  because   it   is 
his  destiny.     If  he  engages  in  controversy  of  any  kind, 
his  disciplined   intellect   preserves  him  from  the  blun- 
dering discourtesy  of  better,  perhaps,  but  less  educated 
minds ;  who,  like  blunt  weapons,  tear  and  hack  instead  45 
of  cutting  clean,  who  mistake   the  point  in  argument, 
waste  their  strength  on  trifles,  misconceive  their  adver- 
sary, and  leave  the  question  more  involved  than  they  find 
it.     He  may  be  right  or  wrong  in  his  opinion,  but  he  is 
too  clear-headed  to  be  unjust;    he  is  as  simple  as  he  50 
is  forcible,  and  as  brief  as  he  is  decisive.      Nowhere 
shall  we  find  greater  candor,  consideration,  indulgence : 
he  throws  himself  into  the  minds  of  his  opponents,  he 
accounts  for  their  mistakes. 


A  FOP 

William  Shakspere 

Hotspur.     My  liege,  I  did  deny  no  prisoners. 

But  I  remember,  when  the  fight  was  done, 

When  I  was  dry  with  rage,  and  extreme  toil, 

Breathless  and  faint,  leaning  upon  my  sword, 

Came  there  a  certain  lord,  neat,  trimly  dressed,  5 

Fresh  as  a  bridgroom;  and  his  chin,  new  reaped, 

Showed  like  a  stubble-land  at  harvest-home; 

He  was  perfumed  like  a  milliner; 

And  'twixt  his  finger  and  his  thumb  he  held 

A  pouncet-box,  which  ever  and  anon  10 

He  gave  his  nose,  and  took't  away  again;  — 

3.  Note  the  old  accent  of  ex'treme.     6-7.  Is  this  a  humorous  hyperbole? 
9.  pouncet-box,  a  box  for  powder  or  perfume. 


3c2  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Who  therewith  angry,  when  it  next  came  there, 

Took  it  in  snuff:  —  and  still  he  smiled  and  talked; 

And,  as  the  soldiers  bore  dead  bodies  by, 

He  called  them  untaught  knaves,  unmannerly,  15 

To  bring  a  slovenly  unhandsome  corse 

Betwixt  the  wind  and  his  nobility. 

With  many  holiday  and  lady  terms 

He  questioned  me;  among  the  rest  demanded 

My  prisoners,  in  your  majesty's  behalf.  20 

I  then,  all  smarting,  with  my  wounds  being  cold, 

To  be  so  pestered  with  a  popinjay, 

Out  of  my  grief  and  my  impatience, 

Answered  neglectingly,  I  know  not  what; 

He  should,  or  he  should  not;  —  for  he  made  me  mad  25 

To  see  him  shine  so  brisk,  and  smell  so  sweet, 

And  talk  so  like  a  waiting-gentlewoman, 

Of  guns,  and  drums,  and  wounds  (God  save  the  mark !), 

And  telling  me,  the  sovereign' st  thing  on  earth 

Was  parmaceti,  for  an  inward  bruise;  30 

And  that  it  was  great  pity,  so  it  was, 

That  villanous  saltpetre  should  be  digged 

Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth, 

Which  many  a  good  tall  fellow  had  destroyed 

So  cowardly;  and  but  for  these  vile  guns,  35 

He  would  himself  have  been  a  soldier. 


13.  To  take  in  snuff  means,  of  course,  to  be  angry ;  but  see  how  Shak- 
spere  pleases  his  whim  by  using  the  words  at  once  in  their  original  and 
in  their  derived  sense,  when  he  is  talking  of  the  original  function.  25.  Is 
mad  correctly  intended,  or  does  the  good  Shakspere  nod?  That  is,  does 
mad  here  really  mean  out  of  his  mind  with  rage,  or  has  Shakspere  been 
caught  napping?  28.  God  save  the  mark!  is  a  sarcastic  exclamation,  as 
if  Hotspur  should  say,  "This  popinjay  talks  about  wounds!  Heaven 
preserve  us !  What  does  he  know  about  wounds?  "  Philologists  are  not 
sure  of  the  origin  of  the  expression  (which  is  still  common).  Perhaps  it 
originally  referred  to  the  target,  in  shooting. 


THE   GENTLEMAN 


353 


This  bald  un jointed  chat  of  his,  my  lord, 

I  answered  indirectly,  as  I  said; 

And  I  beseech  you,  let  not  his  report 

Come  current  for  an  accusation,  40 

Betwixt  my  love  and  your  high  majesty. 

Henry  IV. 

37.  The  unjointed  is  clear:  the  fop's  talk  was  rambling,  incoherent. 
Bald  is  harder,  but  probably  means  merely  that  the  popinjay  spoke  his 
mind  rather  too  freely  and  rudely.  Bald  expressions  are  those  which  lack 
the  covering  of  courtesy. 


A  BREACH   OF   ETIQUETTE 

George  Cary  Eggleston 

We  had  marched  nearly  all  night,  in  order  to  join  Jeb 
Stuart  at  the  time  appointed.  This  was  in  the  early 
summer  of  1861. 

We  regarded  ourselves  with  more  or  less  of  self-pity, 
as  sleep-sacrificing  heroes,  who  were  clearly  entitled  to    5 
a  full  day's  rest. 

Jeb  Stuart  didn't  look  at  it  in  that  way  at  all.  He 
was  a  soldier,  while  we  were  just  beginning  to  learn  how 
to  be  soldiers.     These  things  make  a  difference. 

We  hadn't  got  our  tents  pitched  when  he  ordered  us  out  10 
for  a  scouting  expedition  under  his  personal  command. 

Our  army  lay  at  Winchester.     The  enemy  was  at  Mar- 
tinsburg,  twenty-two  miles  away.     Stuart,  with  his  four 
or  five  hundred  horsemen,  lay  at  Bunker   Hill,  about 
half-way  between  but  a  little  nearer  to  the  enemy  than  to  15 
his  supports.     That  was  always  Stuart's  way. 

In  our  scouting  expedition  that  day,  we  had  two  or 
three  "brushes"  with  the  enemy  —  "just  to  get  us  used 
to  it,"  Stuart  said. 

Finally  we  went  near  to  Martinsburg,  and  came  upon  20 

2A 


354 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


a  farmhouse.  The  farm  gave  no  appearance  of  being  a 
large  one,  or  one  more  than  ordinarily  prosperous,  yet 
we  saw  through  the  open  door  a  dozen  or  fifteen  "  farm 
hands  "  eating  dinner,  all  of  them  in  their  shirt-sleeves. 

Stuart  rode  up,  with  a  few  of  us  at  his  back,  to  make  25 
inquiries,  and  we  dismounted.     Just  then  a  slip  of  a 
girl,  —  not  over  fourteen,  I  should  say,  —  accompanied 
by   a   thick-set,    young    bull-dog,    with    an    abnormal 
development  of  teeth,  ran  up  to  us. 

She  distinctly  and  unmistakably  "sicked"  that  dog  upon  30 
us.  But  as  the  beast  assailed  us,  the  young  girl  ran  after 
him  and  restrained  his  ardor  by  throwing  her  arms  around 
his  neck.  As  she  did  so,  she  kept  repeating  in  a  low  but 
very  insistent  tone  to  us :  "  Make  'em  put  their  coats  on ! 
Make  'em  put  their  coats  on !  Make  'em  put  their  coats  35 
on!" 

Stuart  was  a  peculiarly  ready  person.  He  said  not 
one  word  to  the  young  girl  as  she  led  her  dog  away,  but 
with  a  word  or  two  he  directed  a  dozen  or  so  of  us  to 
follow  him  with  cocked  carbines  into  the  dining  room.  40 
There  he  said  to  the  "farm  hands":  "Don't  you  know 
that  a  gentleman  never  dines  without  his  coat?  Aren't 
you  ashamed  of  yourselves?  And  ladies  present,  too! 
Get  up  and  put  on  your  coats,  every  man  jack  of  you, 
or  I'll  riddle  you  with  bullets  in  five  seconds."  45 

They  sprang  first  of  all  into  the  hallway,  where  they 
had  left  their  arms;  but  either  the  bull-dog  or  the  four- 
teen-year-old girl  had  taken  care  of  that.  The  arms 
were  gone.  Then  seeing  the  carbines  levelled,  they 
made  a  hasty  search  of  the  hiding-places  in  which  they  50 
had  bestowed  their  coats.  A  minute  later  they  appeared 
as  fully  uniformed,  but  helplessly  unarmed  Pennsylvania 
volunteers. 

They  were  prisoners  of  war  at  once,  without  even  an 


THE   GENTLEMAN 


355 


opportunity  to  finish  that  good  dinner.     As  we  left  the   55 
house  the  young  girl  came  up  to  Stuart  and  said :  "  Don't 
say  anything  about  it;  but  the  dog  wouldn't  have  bit 
you.     He  knows  which  side  we're  on  in  this  war." 

As  we  rode  away,  this  young  girl  —  she  of  the  bull-dog 
—  cried  out:  "To  think  the  wretches  made  us  give  'em  60 
dinner!     And  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  too!  " 

Criticise  the  paragraphing  of  this  story,  and  suggest  improvements. 


REMARKS  CONCERNING  THE   SAVAGES   OF 
NORTH   AMERICA 

Benjamin  Franklin 

Savages  we  call  them,  because  their  manners  differ 
from  ours,  which  we  think  the  perfection  of  civility; 
they  think  the  same  of  theirs. 

Perhaps,  if  we  could  examine  the  manners  of  different 
nations  with  impartiality,  we  should  find  no  people  so 
rude  as  to  be  without  any  rules  of  politeness;  or  none 
so  polite  as  not  to  have  some  remains  of  rudeness. 

The  Indian  men,  when  young,  are  hunters  and  war- 
riors; when  old,  counsellors;  for  all  their  government  is 
by  the  counsel  or  advice  of  the  sages.  There  is  no 
force,  there  are  no  prisons,  no  officers  to  compel  obedi- 
ence or  inflict  punishment.  Hence  they  generally  study 
oratory,  the  best  speaker  having  the  most  influence. 
The  Indian  women  till  the  ground,  dress  the  food,  nurse 
and  bring  up  the  children,  and  preserve  and  hand  down 
to  posterity  the  memory  of  public  transactions.  These 
employments  of  men  and  women  are  accounted  natural 
and  honorable.  Having  few  artificial  wants,  they  have 
abundance  of  leisure  for  improvement  by  conversation. 
Our  laborious  manner  of  life,  compared  with  theirs, 


3t6  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

they  esteem  slavish  and  base  and  the  learning  on 
which  we  value  ourselves  they  regard  as  frivolous  and 
useless.  An  instance  of  this  occurred  at  the  treaty  of 
Lancaster,  in  Pennsylvania,  anno  1744,  between  the 
government  of  Virginia  and  the  Six  Nations.  After  the  25 
principal  business  was  settled,  the  commissioners  from 
Virginia  acquainted  the  Indians  by  a  speech,  that  there 
was  at  Williamsburg  a  college,  with  a  fund  for  educating 
Indian  youth;  and  that,  if  the  chiefs  of  the  Six  Nations 
would  send  down  half  a  dozen  of  their  sons  to  that  col-  30 
lege,  the  government  would  take  care  that  they  should 
be  well  provided  for,  and  instructed  in  all  the  learning 
of  the  white  people.  It  is  one  of  the  Indian  rules  of 
politeness  not  to  answer  a  public  proposition  the  same 
day  that  it  is  made;  they  think  this  would  be  treating  35 
it  as  a  light  matter,  and  that  they  show  it  respect  by 
taking  time  to  consider  it,  as  of  a  matter  important. 
They  therefore  deferred  their  answer  till  the  day  follow- 
ing, when  their  speaker  began  by  expressing  their  deep 
sense  of  the  kindness  of  the  Virginia  government  in  40 
making  them  that  offer;  "for  we  know,"  says  he,  "that 
you  highly  esteem  the  kind  of  learning  taught  in  those 
colleges,  and  that  the  maintenance  of  our  young  men, 
while  with  you,  would  be  very  expensive  to  you.  We 
are  convinced,  therefore,  that  you  mean  to  do  us  good  45 
by  your  proposal,  and  we  thank  you  heartily.  But  you, 
who  are  wise,  must  know  that  different  nations  have  dif- 
ferent conceptions  of  things;  and  you  will  therefore  not 
take  it  amiss  if  our  ideas  of  this  kind  of  education  hap- 
pen not  to  be  the  same  with  yours.  We  have  had  some  50 
experience  of  it.  Several  of  our  young  people  were 
formerly  brought  up  at  the  colleges  of  the  northern 
provinces;  they  were  instructed  in  all  your  sciences;  but, 
when  they  came  back  to  us,  they  were  bad  runners, 


THE    GENTLEMAN 


357 


ignorant  of  every  means  of  living  in  the  woods,  unable  55 
to  bear  either  cold  or  hunger,  knew  neither  how  to  build 
a  cabin,  take  a  deer,  nor  kill  an  enemy,  spoke  our 
language  imperfectly;  were  therefore  neither  fit  for 
hunters,  warriors,  nor  counsellors;  they  were  therefore 
totally  good  for  nothing.  We  are  however  not  the  less  60 
obliged  by  your  kind  offer,  though  we  decline  accepting 
it;  and,  to  show  our  grateful  sense  of  it,  if  the  gentle- 
men of  Virginia  will  send  us  a  dozen  of  their  sons,  we 
will  take  great  care  of  their  education,  instruct  them  in 
all  we  know,  and  make  men  of  them."  65 

Having  frequent  occasions  to  hold  councils,  they  have 
acquired  great  order  and  decency  in  conducting  them. 
The  old  men  sit  in  the  foremost  ranks,  the  warriors  in 
the  next,  and  the  women  and  children  in  the  hindmost. 
The  business  of  the  women  is  to  take  exact  notice  of  70 
what  passes,  imprint  it  in  their  memories  (for  they  have 
no  writing),  and  communicate  it  to  their  children. 
They  are  the  records  of  the  council,  and  they  preserve  the 
tradition  of  the  stipulations  in  treaties  a  hundred  years 
back;  which,  when  we  compare  with  our  writings,  we  75 
always  find  exact.  He  that  would  speak  rises.  The 
rest  observe  a  profound  silence.  When  he  has  finished 
and  sits  down,  they  leave  him  five  or  six  minutes  to 
recollect  that,  if  he  has  omitted  anything  he  intended  to 
say,  or  has  anything  to  add,  he  may  rise  again  and  deliver  80 
it.  To  interrupt  another,  even  in  common  conversation, 
is  reckoned  highly  indecent.  How  different  this  is  from 
the  conduct  of  a  polite  British  House  of  Commons, 
where  scarce  a  day  passes  without  some  confusion  that 
makes  the  speaker  hoarse  calling  to  order;  and  how  85 
different  from  the  mode  of  conversation  in  many  polite 
companies  of  Europe,  where,  if  you  do  not  deliver  your 
sentence  with   great  rapidity,  you  are  cut  off   in  the 


358 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


middle  of  it  by  the  impatient  loquacity  of  those  you 
converse  with,  and  never  suffered  to  finish  it !  90 

The  politeness  of  these  savages  in  conversation  is 
indeed  carried  to  excess,  since  it  does  not  permit  them 
to  contradict  or  deny  the  truth  of  what  is  asserted  in 
their  presence.  By  this  means  they  indeed  avoid  dis- 
putes; but  then  it  becomes  difficult  to  know  their  95 
minds,  or  what  impression  you  make  upon  them.  The 
missionaries  who  have  attempted  to  convert  them  to 
Christianity  all  complain  of  this  as  one  of  the  great 
difficulties  of  their  mission.  The  Indians  hear  with 
patience  the  truths  of  the  Gospel  explained  to  them,  i00 
and  give  their  usual  tokens  of  assent  and  approbation. 
You  would  think  they  were  convinced.  No  such  matter. 
It  is  mere  civility. 

A  Swedish  minister,  having  assembled  the  chiefs  of 
the  Susquehanna  Indians,  made  a  sermon  to  them,  ac- 105 
quainting  them  with  the  principal  historical  facts  on 
which  our  religion  is  founded,  such  as  the  fall  of  our 
first  parents  by  eating  an  apple,  the  coming  of  Christ  to 
repair   the   mischief,   his  miracles  and  suffering,   etc. 
When  he  had  finished,  an  Indian  orator  stood  up  to  u0 
thank  him.     "What  you  have  told  us,"  says  he,  "is  all 
very  good.     It  is  indeed  bad  to  eat  apples.     It  is  better 
to  make  them  all  into  cider.     We  are  much  obliged  by 
your  kindness  in  coming  so  far  to  tell  us  those  things 
which  you  have  heard  from  your  mothers.     In  return,  I II5 
will  tell  you  some  of  those  we  have  heard  from  ours. 
'In  the  beginning,  our  fathers  had  only  the  flesh  of  ani- 
mals to  subsist  on,  and  if  their  hunting  was  unsuccessful 
they  were  starving.     Two  of  our  young  hunters,  having 
killed  a  deer,  made  a  fire  in  the  woods  to  boil  some  120 
parts  of  it.      When  they  were  about  to  satisfy  their 
hunger,  they  beheld  a  beautiful  young  woman  descend 


THE    GENTLEMAN 


359 


from  the  clouds  and  seat  herself  on  that  hill  which  you 
see  yonder  among  the  Blue  Mountains.     They  said  to 
each  other,  "  It  is  a  spirit,  that  perhaps  has  smelt  our  125 
broiling  venison  and  wishes  to  eat  of  it;  let  us  offer  some 
to  her."     They  presented  her  with  the  tongue;  she  was 
pleased  with  the  taste  of  it,  and  said:  "Your  kindness 
shall  be  rewarded;  come  to   this  place  after  thirteen 
moons,  and  you  will  find  something  that  will  be  of  great  130 
benefit  in  nourishing  you  and  your  children  to  the  latest 
generations."     They  did  so,  and,  to  their  surprise,  found 
plants  they  had  never  seen  before,  but  which,  from  that 
ancient  time,  have  been  constantly  cultivated  among  us 
to   our  great   advantage.     Where   her  right  hand  had  135 
touched  the  ground,  they  found  maize;  where  her  left 
had   touched    it,    they   found    kidney-beans.'"       The 
good   missionary,  disgusted  with  this  idle   tale,   said: 
"  What  I  delivered  to  you  were  sacred  truths ;  but  what 
you  tell  me  is  mere  fable,  fiction,  and  falsehood."     The  140 
Indian,  offended,  replied :  "  My  brother,   it  seems  your 
friends  have  not  done  you  justice  in  your  education; 
they  have  not  well  instructed  you  in  the  rules  of  com- 
mon civility.     You  saw  that  we,  who  understand  and 
practise  those  rules,  believed  all  your  stories;  why  do  145 
you  refuse  to  believe  ours?  " 

When  any  of  them  come  into  our  towns,  our  people  are 
apt  to  crowd  them,  gaze  upon  them,  and  incommode 
them  where  they  desire  to  be  private;  this  they  esteem 
great  rudeness,  and  the  effect  of  the  want  of  instruction  150 
in  the  rules  of  civility  and  good  manners.  "We  have," 
say  they,  "  as  much  curiosity  as  you,  and  when  you  come 
into  our  towns  we  wish  for  opportunities  of  looking  at 
you;  but  for  this  purpose  we  hide  ourselves  behind 
bushes  where  you  are  to  pass,  and  never  intrude  ourselves  155 
into  your  company." 


3<5o 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


Their  manner  of  entering  one  another's  village  has 
likewise  its  rules.  It  is  reckoned  uncivil  in  travelling 
strangers  to  enter  a  village  abruptly  without  giving  notice 
of  their  approach.  Therefore,  as  soon  as  they  arrive  160 
within  hearing  they  stop  and  hollow,  remaining  there 
until  invited  to  enter.  Two  old  men  usually  come  out 
to  them  and  lead  them  in.  There  is  in  every  village  a 
vacant  dwelling,  called  the  strangers'  house.  Here  they 
are  placed,  while  the  old  men  go  round  from  hut  to  hut  165 
acquainting  the  inhabitants  that  strangers  are  arrived, 
who  are  probably  hungry  and  weary;  and  everyone  sends 
them  what  he  can  spare  of  victuals,  and  skins  to  repose 
on.  When  the  strangers  are  refreshed,  pipes  and  tobacco 
are  brought,  and  then,  but  not  before,  conversation  170 
begins,  with  inquiries  who  they  are,  whither  bound, 
what  news,  etc. ;  and  it  usually  ends  with  offers  of  ser- 
vice, if  the  strangers  have  occasion  for  guides,  or  any 
necessaries  for  continuing  their  journey;  and  nothing 
is  exacted  for  the  entertainment.  175 

The  same  hospitality,  esteemed  among  them  as  a  prin- 
cipal virtue,  is  practised  by  private  persons,  of  which 
Conrad  Weiser,  our  interpreter,  gave  me  the  following 
instance.  He  had  been  naturalized  among  the  Six 
Nations,  and  spoke  well  the  Mohawk  language.  In  180 
going  through  the  Indian  country  to  carry  a  message 
from  our  governor  to  the  council  at  Onondaga,  he  called 
at  the  habitation  of  Canassetego,  an  old  acquaintance, 
who  embraced  him,  spread  furs  for  him  to  sit  on,  and 
placed  before  him  some  boiled  beans  and  venison,  and  185 
mixed  some  rum  and  water  for  his  drink.  When  he  was 
well  refreshed,  and  had  lit  his  pipe,  Canassetego  began 
to  converse  with  him ;  asked  him  how  he  had  fared  the 
many  years  since  they  had  seen  each  other,  whence  he 
then  came,  what  occasioned  the  journey,  etc.     Conrad  190 


THE   GENTLEMAN  36 1 

answered  all  his  questions;  and  when  the  discourse 
began  to  flag,  the  Indian,  to  continue  it,  said:  "Con- 
rad, you  have  lived  long  among  the  white  people,  and 
know  something  of  their  customs.  I  have  been  some- 
times at  Albany,  and  have  observed  that  once  in  seven  i95 
days  they  shut  up  their  shops  and  assemble  all  in  the 
great  house.  Tell  me  what  it  is  for?  What  do  they  do 
there  ?  "  "  They  meet  there, "  says  Conrad,  "  to  hear  and 
learn  good  things."  "I  do  not  doubt,"  says  the  Indian, 
"that  they  tell  you  so  —  they  have  told  me  the  same; 200 
but  I  doubt  the  truth  of  what  they  say,  and  I  will  tell 
you  my  reasons.  I  went  lately  to  Albany  to  sell  my 
skins  and  buy  blankets,  knives,  powder,  rum,  etc.  You 
know  I  used  generally  to  deal  with  Hans  Hanson;  but 
I  was  a  little  inclined  this  time  to  try  some  other  mer-  205 
chants.  However,  I  called  first  upon  Hans,  and  asked 
him  what  he  would  give  for  beaver.  He  said  he  could 
not  give  anymore  than  four  shillings  a  pound;  'but,' 
says  he,  '  I  cannot  talk  on  business  now :  this  is  the  day 
when  we  meet  together  to  learn  good  things,  and  I  am  210 
going  to  meeting.'  So  I  thought  to  myself,  ' Since  I 
cannot  do  any  business  to-day,  I  may  as  well  go  to  the 
meeting  too,'  and  I  went  with  him.  There  stood  up  a 
man  in  black,  and  began  to  talk  to  the  people  very 
angrily.  I  did  not  understand  what  he  said,  but,  per-  215 
ceiving  that  he  looked  much  at  me  and  at  Hanson,  I 
imagined  he  was  angry  at  seeing  me  there;  so  I  went 
out,  sat  down  near  the  house,  struck  fire  and  lit  my  pipe, 
waiting  till  the  meeting  should  break  up.  I  thought, 
too,  that  the  man  had  mentioned  something  of  beaver,  220 
and  I  suspected  it  might  be  the  subject  of  their  meet- 
ing. So,  when  they  came  out,  I  accosted  my  merchant. 
'Well,  Hans,'  says  I,  'I  hope  you  have  agreed  to  give 
more  than  four  shillings  a  pound.'     'No,'  says  he;  'I 


362  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

cannot  give  so  much;  I  cannot  give  more  than  three  225 
shillings  and  sixpence. '     I  then  spoke  to  several  dealers, 
but  they  all  sung  the  same  song,  —  three  and  sixpence, 
—  three  and  sixpence.     This  made  it  clear  to  me  that 
my  suspicion  was  right;  and  that,  whatever  they  pre- 
tended of  meeting  to  learn  good  things,  the  real  purpose  230 
was  to  consult  how  to  cheat  Indians  in  the  price  of 
beaver.     Consider  but  a  little,  Conrad,  and  you  must 
be  of  my  opinion.     If  they  met  so  often  to  learn  good 
things,  they  would  certainly  have  learned  some  before 
this  time.     But  they  are  still  ignorant.     You  know  our  235 
practice.     If  a  white  man,   in  travelling  through  our 
country,  enters  one  of  our  cabins,  we  all  treat  him  as  I 
do  you :  we  dry  him  if  he  is  wet,  we  warm  him  if  he 
is  cold,  and  give  him  meat  and  drink,  that  he  may  allay 
his  thirst  and  hunger,  and  we  spread  soft  furs  for  him  240 
to  rest  and  sleep  on.     We  demand  nothing  in  return. 
But,  if  I  go  into  a  white  man's  house  at  Albany  and  ask 
for    victuals    and    drink,    they   say,    '  Where    is    your 
money?'  and  if  I  have  none,  they  say,  'Get  out,  you 
Indian  dog ! '     You  see  they  have  not  learned  those  little  245 
good  things  that  we  need  no  meetings  to  be  instructed 
in,  because  our  mothers  taught  them  to  us  when  we  were 
children;  and  therefore  it  is  impossible  their  meetings 
should  be,  as  they  say,  for  any  such  purpose,  or  have 
any  such  effect;  they  are  only  to  contrive  the  cheating  of '250 
Indians  in  the  price  of  beaver." 


OMAR   AND  THE  PERSIAN 
Sarah  Williams 

The  victor  stood  beside  the  spoil,  and  by  the  grinning  dead : 
"The  land  is  ours,  the  foe  is  ours,  now  rest,  my  men,"  he 
said. 


THE   GENTLEMAN 


363 


But  while  he  spoke  there  came  a  band  of  foot-sore,  panting 

men: 
"The  latest  prisoner,  my  lord,  we  took  him  in  the  glen, 
And  left  behind  dead  hostages  that  we  would  come  again."  5 

The  victor  spoke:   "Thou,  Persian  dog!  hast  cost  more 

lives  than  thine. 
That  was  thy  will,  and  thou  shouldst  die  full  thrice,  if  I 

had  mine. 
Dost  know  thy  fate,  thy  just  reward?"     The  Persian  bent 

his  head, 
"I  know  both  sides  of  victory,  and  only  grieve,"  he  said, 
"Because  there  will  be  none  to  fight  'gainst  thee  when  I  am 

dead.  10 

"  No  Persian  faints  at  sight  of  Death,  —  we  know  his  face 

too  well,  — 
He  waits  for  us  on  mountain  side,  in  town,  or  shelter' d 

dell; 
But  I  crave  a  cup  of  wine,  thy  first  and  latest  boon, 
For  I  have  gone  three  days  athirst,  and  fear  lest  I  may 

swoon, 
Or  even  wrong  mine  enemy,  by  dying  now,  too  soon."     15 

The   cup   was   brought;    but   ere   he   drank   the    Persian 

shudder' d  white. 
Omar  replied,  "What  fearest  thou?    The  wine  is  clear  and 

bright; 
We  are  no  poisoners,  not  we,  nor  traitors  to  a  guest, 
No  dart  behind,  nor  dart  within,  shall  pierce  thy  gallant 

breast; 
Till  thou  hast  drain' d  the  draught,  O  foe,  thou  dost  in 

safety  rest."  20 

The  Persian  smil'd,  with  parched  lips,  upon  the  foemen 

round, 


3^4 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


Then   pour'd  the  precious  liquid  out,   untasted,   on  the 

ground. 
"Till  that  is  drunk,  I  live,"  said  he,  "and  while  I  live,  I 

fight; 
So,  see  you  to  your  victory,  for  'tis  undone  this  night; 
Omar  the  worthy,  battle  fair  is  but  thy  godlike  right."      25 

Upsprang  a  wrathful  army  then,  —  Omar  restrain'd  them 

all, 
Upon  no  battlefield  had  rung  more  clear  his  martial  call, 
The  dead  men's  hair  beside  his  feet  as  by  a  breeze  was 

stirr'd, 
The  farthest  henchman  in  the  camp  the  noble  mandate 

heard : 
"Hold!   if  there  be  a  sacred  thing,   it  is  the  warrior's 

word."  30 


THE  OCTOPUS   OF  THE  GOLDEN   ISLES1 

Theodore  Watts-Dunton 

"  What !    Will  they  even  strike  at  me  f  " 

Round  many  an  Isle  of  Song,  in  seas  serene, 
With  many  a  swimmer  strove  the  poet-boy, 
Yet  strove  in  love :  their  strength,  I  say,  was  joy 

To  him,  my  friend  —  dear  friend  of  godlike  mien ! 

But  soon  he  felt  beneath  the  billowy  green  5 

A  monster  moving  —  moving  to  destroy : 
Limb  after  limb  became  the  tortured  toy 

Of  coils  that  clung  and  lips  that  stung  unseen. 

1  Reprinted  from  "  The  Coming  of  Love,  and  Other  Poems,"  by  permis- 
sion of  Mr.  John  Lane. 


THE    GENTLEMAN  365 

"And  can'st  thou  strike  ev'n  me  ?  "  the  swimmer  said, 
As  rose  above  the  waves  the  deadly  eyes,  10 

Arms  flecked  with  mouths  that  hissed  in  hellish  wise, 

Quivering  in  hate  around  a  hateful  head.  — 
I  saw  him  fight  old  Envy's  sorceries: 

I  saw  him  sink :  the  man  I  loved  is  dead ! 

Does  this  sonnet,  like  the  former  one  by  the  same  author,  break  natu- 
rally into  the  octave  and  the  sestet,  devoting  each  to  a  distinct  phase  of  the 
theme? 


THE  CHURL  IN   SPIRIT 
Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 

The  churl  in  spirit,  up  or  down 

Along  the  scale  of  ranks,  thro'  all, 
To  him  who  grasps  a  golden  ball, 

By  blood  a  king,  at  heart  a  clown; 

The  churl  in  spirit,  howe'er  he  veil  5 

His  want  in  forms  for  fashion's  sake, 
Will  let  his  coltish  nature  break 

At  seasons  thro'  the  gilded  pale : 

For  who  can  always  act?  but  he, 

To  whom  a  thousand  memories  call,  10 

Not  being  less  but  more  than  all 

The  gentleness  he  seem'd  to  be, 

Best  seem'd  the  thing  he  was,  and  join'd 

Each  office  of  the  social  hour 

To  noble  manners,  as  the  flower  15 

And  native  growth  of  noble  mind; 

3.  The  student  will  perhaps  remember  statues  of  Roman  emperors 
holding  in  the  hand  a  sphere,  signifying  the  earth. 


366 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Nor  ever  narrowness  or  spite, 
Or  villain  fancy  fleeting  by, 
Drew  in  the  expression  of  an  eye, 

Where  God  and  Nature  met  in  light;  20 

And  thus  he  bore  without  abuse 

The  grand  old  name  of  gentleman, 
Defamed  by  every  charlatan, 

And  soil'd  with  all  ignoble  use. 

In  what  other  poem  appeared  the  same  rhyme-scheme?    Tennyson  made 
this  stanza  famous. 


THE  END  OF  THE  PLAY 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray 

The  play  is  done  —  the  curtain  drops, 

Slow  falling  to  the  prompter's  bell; 
A  moment  yet  the  actor  stops, 

And  looks  around,  to  say  farewell. 
It  is  an  irksome  word  and  task; 

And,  when  he's  laugh'd  and  said  his  say, 
He  shows,  as  he  removes  the  mask, 

A  face  that's  anything  but  gay. 

One  word,  ere  yet  the  evening  ends : 

Let's  close  it  with  a  parting  rhyme, 
And  pledge  a  hand  to  all  young  friends, 

As  fits  the  merry  Christmas  time; 
On  life's  wide  scene  you,  too,  have  parts, 

That  fate  ere  long  shall  bid  you  play; 
Good-night !  —  with  honest  gentle  hearts 

A  kindly  greeting  go  alway ! 


THE    GENTLEMAN  367 

Good-night!  —  I'd  say  the  griefs,  the  joys, 

Just  hinted  in  this  mimic  page, 
The  triumphs  and  defeats  of  boys, 

Are  but  repeated  in  our  age;  20 

I'd  say  your  woes  were  not  less  keen, 

Your  hopes  more  vain,  than  those  of  men, 
Your  pangs  or  pleasures  of  fifteen 

At  forty-five  played  o'er  again. 

I'd  say  we  suffer  and  we  strive  25 

Not  less  nor  more  as  men  than  boys, 
With  grizzled  beards  at  forty-five, 

As  erst  at  twelve  in  corduroys. 
And  if,  in  time  of  sacred  youth, 

We  learn 'd  at  home  to  love  and  pray,  30 

Pray  Heaven  that  early  love  and  truth 

May  never  wholly  pass  away. 

And  in  the  world,  as  in  the  school, 

I'd  say  how  fate  may  change  and  shift, — 
The  prize  be  sometimes  with  the  fool,  35 

The  race  not  always  to  the  swift; 
The  strong  may  yield,  the  good  may  fall, 

The  great  man  be  a  vulgar  clown, 
The  knave  be  lifted  over  all, 

The  kind  cast  pitilessly  down.  40 

Who  knows  the  inscrutable  design? 

Blessed  be  He  who  took  and  gave ! 
Why  should  your  mother,  Charles,  not  mine, 

Be  weeping  at  her  darling's  grave? 

27.   How  old  was  Thackeray  when  he  died?     See  the  Chronological 
Table. 


368 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

We  bow  to  Heaven  that  will'd  it  so,  45 

That  darkly  rules  the  fate  of  all, 
That  sends  the  respite  or  the  blow, 

That's  free  to  give  or  to  recall. 


So  shall  each  mourn,  in  life's  advance, 

Dear  hopes,  dear  friends,  untimely  kill'd,       50 
Shall  grieve  for  many  a  forfeit  chance, 

And  longing  passion  unfulfilFd. 
Amen !  —  whatever  fate  be  sent, 

Pray  God  the  heart  may  kindly  glow, 
Although  the  head  with  cares  be  bent,  55 

And  whiten'd  with  the  winter  snow. 


Come  wealth  or  want,  come  good  or  ill, 

Let  young  and  old  accept  their  part, 
And  bow  before  the  awful  will, 

And  bear  it  with  an  honest  heart.  60 

Who  misses  or  who  wins  the  prize  — 

Go,  lose  or  conquer  as  you  can; 
But  if  you  fail,  or  if  you  rise, 

Be  each,  pray  God,  a  gentleman. 


A  gentleman,  or  old  or  young!  65 

(Bear  kindly  with  my  humble  lays); 
The  sacred  chorus  first  was  sung 

Upon  the  first  of  Christmas  days; 
The  shepherds  heard  it  overhead  — 

The  joyful  angels  rais'd  it  then:  7° 

Glory  to  heaven  on  high,  it  said, 

And  peace  on  earth  to  gentle  men ! 


THE    GENTLEMAN 


369 


My  song,  save  this,  is  little  worth; 

I  lay  the  weary  pen  aside, 
And  wish  you  health,  and  love,  and  mirth,  75 

As  fits  the  solemn  Christmas-tide. 
As  fits  the  holy  Christmas  birth, 

Be  this,  good  friends,  our  carol  still : 
Be  peace  on  earth,  be  peace  on  earth, 

To  men  of  gentle  will.  80 


Plan  of  Summary. — Reviewing  the  chapter,  (1)  enumerate  the 
kinds  of  metre,  designating  them  by  the  number  of  accents  and  by  the 
predominant  foot.  Then  (2)  say  which  poem  is  most  noticeable  for  mel- 
ody; (3)  which  for  beauty  of  suggested  sights;  (4)  which  for  pleasure 
of  suggested  sounds;  (5)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  activity; 
(6)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  odors  or  tastes;  (7)  which  is 
most  easily  understood;  (8)  which  moves  the  reader  most  deeply; 
(9)  which  shows  most  skill  in  character  drawing;  (io)  which  has  the 
best  unity;  (u)  which,  your  critical  judgment  tells  you,  is  the  best 
piece  of  work;  (12)  which  you  like  the  best,  —  without  regard  to  its 
deserved  rank,  or  its  fame. 


CHAPTER    IX 
WIT  AND   HUMOR1 

It  is  an  interesting  question  to  ask  ourselves  why  we 
laugh.  Certainly  it  is  not  always  because  the  thing  laughed 
at  is  funny.  People  in  an  audience  will  guffaw  at  a  joke 
so  poor  as  to  deserve  tears;  they  would  not  smile  if  they 
saw  the  same  stale  jest  in  the  morning  paper.  When 
people  are  tired  or  nervously  weak,  they  laugh  at  nothing, 
and  we  call  them  hysterical;  of  this  order  are  the  giggling 
boy  and  the  giggling  girl.  When  a  student  is  at  work  over 
an  algebraic  problem,  he  sees  nothing  funny  in  the  mathe- 
matical puzzle  he  is  trying  to  solve.  He  is  very  serious 
indeed,  poring  with  knitted  brows  over  the  task.  Yet 
presently  when  the  answer  is  found,  and  particularly  if  it  is 
found  in  an  unexpected  way,  the  brows  unbend  and  a  smile 
breaks  out  upon  the  face.     Still  the  answer  is  not  amusing. 

The  student  smiled  when  the  nervous  tension  of  search- 
ing for  the  answer  was  relaxed.  The  answer  came  as  a 
pleasant  surprise.  Similarly  the  audience  laughed  at  the 
poor  joke  because  the  tension  of  expectation  ceased.  A 
pleasant  relaxing  of  attention  or  a  pleasant  surprise  usually 
produces  a  smile. 

What  we  call  the  sense  of  the  ridiculous  has  in  it  a  great 
deal  of  this  surprise  element.  When  Patrick  Henry  ex- 
claimed, "Caesar  had.  his  Brutus,  Charles  the  P'irst  his 
Cromwell,  and  George  the  Third  —  may  profit  by  their 
example ! "  he  saved  himself  by  a  stroke  of  wit  from  being 

1  For  several  anecdotes  in  this  chapter  the  editor  is  indebted  to  Walter 
Jerrold's  "  Bon  Mots  of  the  Nineteenth  Century." 

370 


WIT  AND  HUMOR 


371 


Salt  Dips, 
P.  376. 


called  a  traitor.  We  may  be  sure  his  hearers  laughed.  So 
did  the  attendants  who,  having  repeatedly  dipped  the 
invalid  Charles  Lamb  into  cold  water,  learned  at  last  that,  Lamb's 
if  they  had  given  the  stammering  patient  time,  he  would 
have  said,  "  I  was  to  be  di-di-di-dipped  only  once."  When 
Bret  Harte's  soldier  said,  "I  was  with  Grant,"  —  the  old 
farmer  thought  himself  face  to  face  with  a  comrade  of  his 
son.  He  was  ridiculously  surprised  when  the  stranger,  hav- 
ing eaten  a  good  dinner  at  the  farmer's  expense,  explained 
that  he  had  worked  for  Grant  some  years  before  the  war. 

There  is  nothing  so  surprising,  and  therefore  so  funny, 
as  to  find  a  thing  quite  out  of  its  place.  If  one  should  see 
a  cow  jumping  over  the  moon  he  would  feel  that  the  situa- 
tion was  unnatural  for  the  cow  and  for  the  moon.  What 
is  called  wit  consists  largely  in  seeing  things  or  imagining 
things  out  of  place.  What  is  called  a  pun  is  putting  the 
wrong  word  into  a  given  place  because  it  sounds  like  the 
word  which  really  belongs  there.  Good  puns  are  rare. 
Two  of  the  three  in  the  following  anecdote,  told  by  Mr. 
Walter  Jerrold,  are  good,  the  other  poor. 

As  an  "  elaborately  dressed  young  lady  stepped  out  on  the 
hotel  piazza  to  admire  the  sunset,  a  friend  whispered  to 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  'The  young  lady  is  in  evening 
dress.' 

"'The  close  of  the  day,  my  dear  sir,'  remarked  Holmes. 

"'That's  Holmes'  pun,'  was  the  reply. 

"'I'm  worsted,'  added  the  poet." 

The  intentional  pun  is  not  so  funny  as  the  unintentional. 
Sheridan's  Mrs.  Malaprop  was  an  adept  in  the  latter  species. 
She  wouldn't  wish  a  daughter  of  hers  to  become  a  progeny 
of  learning,  but  would  have  her  instructed  in  geometry,    Mrs.  Mala 
that  she  might  know  something  of  contagious  countries.        Education 

Very  like  punning  is  the  kind  of  surprise  produced  by  for  Girls, 
intentional  bad  spelling.     It  is  rather  a  low  form  of  wit,    p- 378' 


372 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


When 
Moonlike 
ore  the 
Hazure 
Seas, 
P.  378. 


Lapsus 
Calami, 
P-  379- 


He  is  an 
English- 
man, 
p.  380. 


but  now  and  then  a  man  like  Artemus  Ward  could  make  it 
irresistible.  His  "amoosin'  grate  show"  of  one  kangaroo 
was  droll  enough  until  every  country  newspaper  began  to 
imitate  the  method  of  the  fun.  Thackeray  makes  use  of 
bad  spelling  to  burlesque  the  sentimental  love-poetry  of  his 
day.  The  conventional  love-lorn  youth,  apostrophizing 
the  heartless  fair  who  has  jilted  him  for  rank  and  wealth, 
is  displaced  in  Thackeray's  poem  by  a  footman.  The 
latter  says  exactly  what  the  lover  would  say,  but  he  spells 
the  words  in  footman  style.  He  makes  a  single  slip  in  his 
use  of  adjectives:  instead  of  saying  "weeping  eyes"  he 
says  "weeping  lips."  A  careful  reader  finds  that  the  best 
thing  in  the  poem. 

Now  and  then  the  pun  is  used  with  great  effect  for  pur- 
poses of  satire.  When  Mr.  Kipling  was  a  very  young 
man  he  poured  forth  great  numbers  of  magazine  stories. 
His  fertility  did  not  escape  the  satire  of  the  late  James 
Kenneth  Stephen,  who  longed  for  the  day  "  When  the  Rud- 
yards  cease  from  kipling."  Douglas  Jerrold  said  to  a 
writer,  "Why,  Chorley,  your  hair's  red;  your  waistcoat's 
red;  your  necktie's  red;  —  in  fact  everything  about  you  is 
red  except  your  books."  One  of  the  most  effective  forms 
of  satirical  wit  is  irony.  This  may  be  illustrated  by  Mr. 
Gilbert's  congratulation  of  an  Englishman  for  condescend- 
ing to  be  born  an  Englishman. 

Wit  has  often  been  directed  against  dull  poetry.  Alex- 
ander Pope,  in  the  early  eighteenth  century,  wrote  a  long 
poem  called  The  Dunciad,  in  which  he  flayed  all  his 
poetaster  rivals,  singling  out  one  —  Shadwell  —  as  the 
prince  of  the  dunces.  In  our  own  day,  Lowell  has  plied 
his  wit  upon  American  writers  in  his  Fable  for  Critics. 
In  this  poem  he  has  a  fling  against  even  himself :  — 

There  is  Lowell,  who's  striving  Parnassus  to  climb 
With  a  whole  bale  of  isms  tied  together  with  rhyme. 


WIT  AND  HUMOR  373 

He  might  get  on  alone,  spite  of  brambles  and  boulders, 

But  he  can't  with  that  bundle  he  has  on  his  shoulders. 

The  top  of  the  hill  he  will  ne'er  come  nigh  reaching 

Till  he  learns  the  distinction  'twixt  singing  and  preaching; 

His  lyre  has  some  chords  that  would  ring  pretty  well; 

But  he'd  rather  by  half  make  a  drum  of  the  shell, 

And  rattle  away  till  he's  old  as  Methusalem, 

At  the  head  of  a  march  to  the  last  new  Jerusalem. 

Here  Lowell  is  remembering  the  morals  he  drew  from 
the  dandelion,  from  Sir  Launfal,  and  from  many  other 
poetic  themes.  Lowell  felt,  with  Dr.  Garnett,  that  poetry 
with  a  deliberate  moral  —  didactic,  or  preaching  poetry  — 
is  not  poetry  at  all;  a  mule  is  a  mule,  no  matter  what  he 
carries   on   his   back.     Lowell  wrote  a  bright   satire   on  iheDidac- 

0  tic  Poem, 

didactic   poetry,  pretending   that   it   originated  with  the   p.  380. 
goddess  Minerva,  who  put  Jove  himself  to  sleep  with  it. 

Wit  is  the  keenest  of  weapons.  It  is,  indeed,  often 
cruel  and  heartless.  Napoleon  said  that  "  a  victory  could 
no  more  be  made  without  sacrificing  men  than  an  omelette 
without  eggs."  Similarly  the  joker  thinks  that  somebody 
must  pay  the  expense  of  his  jokes.  When,  however, 
the  biter  is  bitten,  we  rejoice;  severe  repartee  is  the 
sweetest  of  morsels  to  everybody  save  one.  "A  Vienna 
lady  visiting  England  remarked  to  Lord  Dudley,  'What 
wretchedly  bad  French  you  all  speak  in  London! '  'It  is 
true,  madame,'  he  answered,  'we  have  not  enjoyed  the 
advantage  of  having  the  French  twice  in  our  capital.'" 
Even  when  there  is  no  reasonable  justification  of  the 
retort,  the  mere  fact  of  its  wittiness  will  sometimes  take 
the  place  of  reason.  "At  the  East  India  House  the  head 
of  the  office  once  reproved  Lamb  for  the  excessive  irregu- 
larity of  his  attendance.  'Really,  Mr.  Lamb,  you  come 
very  late!'  observed  the  official.  'Y-yes,'  replied  Lamb, 
with  his  habitual  stammer;  'b-but  consi-sider  how  ear- 
early  I  go ! '  " 


?-*  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

It  is  in  rude  stages  of  civilization  that  the  wit  which  has 
no  personal  sting  is  thought  to  be  no  wit.  Thus,  all  savage 
tribes  find  personal  deformity  funny.  When  Shakspere 
wished  to  make  a  study  of  insanity,  in  Hamlet,  he  found 
that  his  audience  —  an  audience  of  only  three  hundred 
years  ago  —  regarded  insanity  as  comic.  To  this  day  a 
drunken  man  is  laughed  at  even  when,  having  passed  the 
early  stages  of  his  drunken  fit,  he  lies  in  the  gutter,  a  shame 
to  his  race.  D'Orsay,  the  famous  dandy,  "was  irritated 
at  receiving  anonymously  some  offensive  verses  sealed  with 
a  wafer  and  thimble.  These  verses  caused  great  laughter 
at  the  Beau's  expense;  D'Orsay,  however,  had  a  shrewd 
idea  as  to  their  author,  a  would-be  dandy,  deeply  marked 
by  small-pox ;  and  meeting  him  at  a  club  he  called  out  to 
him,  'The  next  time,  mon  cher,  that  you  write  an  anony- 
mous letter,  don't  seal  it  with  the  end  of  your  nose.'  " 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  D'Orsay's  joke  was  a  bit  funny. 
The  trouble  is  that  he  lacked  the  gentlemanly  sympathy 
which  would  have  prevented  the  funny  side  of  the  case  from 
presenting  itself  to  his  mind.  The  true  gentleman,  as  Dr. 
Theodore  Munger  says,  "simply  does  not  see  deformity  "  ; ■ 
or,  if  he  does,  he  reasons  to  himself  that  it  is  only  by  the 
grace  of  God  that  he  himself  is  free  from  the  same.  For 
that  matter,  every  one  probably  has  something  like  de- 
formity. Our  eyes  are  bad,  or  our  blood  is  pale,  or  some- 
where in  our  system  there  is  a  disease  slowly  developing. 
We  can  very  properly  laugh  at  the  physical  inadequacy  of 
our  race.  Little  man  takes  his  gun  and  goes  forth  to  hunt 
the  red  deer  and  the  wild-fowl;  meantime  some  "fearful 
wild-fowl  "  like  the  microbe  of  malaria  starts  out  in  millions 
to  hunt  little  man.  If  looked  at  in  a  certain  way,  even 
little  man  is  something  of  a  joke. 

1  "  On  the  Threshold." 


WIT  AND  HUMOR  375 

Several  distinctions  are  usually  made  between  wit  and 
humor.  For  example  wit  originates  bright,  sharp  expres- 
sions, while  humor  merely  appreciates  them.  General 
Grant  liked  a  good  story,  but  he  rarely  tried  to  tell  one. 
Another  distinction  is  that  wit  often  spends  itself  in 
word-play,  while  humor  spreads  itself  over  a  general  situa- 
tion. For  example,  Charles  Lamb,  having  dined  very 
heartily  with  a  company,  and  afterwards  squeezed  into  a 
coach  with  them,  sat  appreciating  the  pervading  humor  of 
the  situation.  When  presently  some  one  without  shouted, 
"All  full  within?"  Lamb's  wit  burst  forth.  "I  can't 
answer  for  the  others,  but  that  last  piece  of  pudding  did 
the  business  for  me." 

Wit  and  humor  are  alike  in  enjoying  an  exaggeration  of 
the  truth,  but  this  form  of  the  ridiculous  is  chiefly  a  matter 
of  humor.  Americans  are  supposed  to  supply  this  kind  of 
joke;  but  some  of  the  best  things  in  British  humor  are  of 
the  same  order.  Lamb  declared  of  a  certain  man,  "He'd 
throw  a  d-damp  upon  a-a-a  funeral!"  "Lamb  said  that 
on  one  occasion  he  met  Coleridge  in  the  street.  Coleridge 
took  hold  of  his  friend  by  the  button  of  his  coat  and  began 
telling  something  in  his  long-drawn-out  manner,  discussing 
perhaps  one  of  those  questions  of  'fate,  free-will,  fore- 
knowledge absolute,'  of  which  he  was  so  fond.  Elia,1  who 
was  on  his  way  to  the  India  House,  had  no  time  for  dis- 
cussion, so  he  took  out  his  penknife,  cut  the  button  off  his 
coat,  and,  leaving  it  in  Coleridge's  hand,  continued  his 
way.  On  his  return  some  hours  later,  says  Elia,  he  found 
Coleridge  still  holding  the  button,  and  holding  forth  to  his 
imagined  auditor."  It  is  hard  to  say  which  are  the  calmer 
and  drier,  the  exaggerations  of  Dr.  Holmes  or  those  of  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Sydney  Smith,  the  one  a  Yankee,  the  other  an 

1  Elia  (pronounced  El' Ha)  was  Lamb's  literary  name,  or  pseudonym. 


376 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


Englishman.      Dr.  Holmes  tells  the  story  of  the  wonderful 

The  Height  one-hoss  shay  that  was  built  so  evenly  well  as  to  be  logically 

Ridfc  lo  s    unable  t0  wear  out-     Again,  he  says  that  for  years  he  has 

p. 381.       '  not  dared  to  write  "as  funny  as  he  can,"  since  the  time 

when  his   doing   so  almost   cost   the   life   of   a   servant. 

Elsewhere  he  adapts  the  old  legend  of  a  headsman  whose 

victims  had  to  sneeze  in  order  to  know  whether  they  were 

already  decapitated.     Sydney  Smith  tells  of  the  wonders 

of  Ceylon,  where  musk  is  so  strong  as  to  infect  bottled 

The  Pro-      wine,  and  a  leaf  of  the  talipot  tree  shelters  ten  soldiers. 

auctions  of        jkg  most  important  of  the  distinctions  between  wit  and 

Ceylon,  r 

p.  382.  humor  is  the  following.  Humor  is  closely  allied  to  pathos, 
wit  is  usually  not.  Humor  is  a  feeling,  more  than  an  in- 
tellectual perception;  wit  is  a  cold,  intellectual  process. 
Dickens  is  a  great  humorist;  he  makes  us  laugh  and  cry  in 
the  same  breath.  His  street  boys  are  funny  things,  but 
they  touch  our  hearts.  Charles  Lamb  was  both  wit  and 
humorist,  but  we  value  his  puns  far  less  than  the  skilful 
mixture  of  comic  and  pathetic  in  his  praise  of  chimney- 
sweepers (cf.  page  343).  Dr.  Holmes,  like  Lamb,  knew 
the  secret  of  making  the  lips  smile  while  there  is  a  lump  in 

The  Last      the  throat.     The  exquisite  humor  of  The  Last  Leaf  proves 

Lea{'  this. 


P.  384. 


LAMB'S   SALT   DIPS 
Walter  Jerrold 

Lamb  had  been  medically  advised  to  take  a  course  of 
sea-bathing;  and,  accordingly,  at  the  door  of  his  bath- 
ing machine,  whilst  he  stood  shivering  with  the  cold, 
two  stout  fellows  laid  hold  of  him,  one  at  each  stioulder, 
like  heraldic  supporters;  they  waited  for  the  word  of 
command  from  their  principals,  who  began  the  following 
oration  to  them:  — 


WIT  AND  HUMOR 


377 


"  Hear  me,  men !  Take  notice  of  this  —  I  am  to  be 
dipped."  What  more  he  would  have  said  is  unknown, 
for  having  reached  the  word  "dipped,"  he  commenced  10 
such  a  rolling  fire  of  di-di-di-di,  that  when  at  length  he 
descended  a  plomb  upon  the  full  word  dipped,  the  two 
men,  rather  tired  of  the  long  suspense,  became  satisfied 
that  they  had  reached  what  lawyers  call  the  "  operative 
clause  "  of  the  sentence;  and  both  exclaiming,  "Oh yes,  15 
sir,  we  are  quite  aware  of  that,"  down  they  plunged  him 
into  the  sea. 

On  emerging,  Lamb  sobbed  so  much  from  the  cold 
that  he  found  no  voice  suitable  to  his  indignation;  from 
necessity  he  seemed  tranquil;  and  again  addressing  the  20 
men,  who  stood  respectfully  listening,  he  began  thus :  — 

"Men!  is  it  possible  to  obtain  your  attention?  " 

"Oh,  surely,  sir,  by  all  means." 

"Then  listen;  —  once  more  I  tell  you  I  am  to  be 
di-di-di-di-,"  and  then,  with  a  burst  of   indignation,  25 
"dipped,  I  tell  you." 

"Oh,  decidedly,  sir,"  rejoined  the  men,  "decidedly," 
and  down  the  stammerer  went  for  a  second  time. 

Petrified  with  cold  and  wrath,  once  more  Lamb  made 
a  feeble  attempt  at  explanation  :  —        .  30 

"  Grant  me  pa-pa-patience !  Is  it  mum-um-murder  you 
me-me-ean?  Again,  and  again  I  tell  you  I'm  to  be 
di-di-di-dipped,"  now  speaking  furiously,  with  the  tone 
of  an  injured  man. 

"Oh  yes,  sir,"  the  men  replied,  "we  know  that;  we  35 
fully  understood  it;  "  and,  for  the  third  time,  down  went 
Lamb  into  the  sea. 

"O  limbs  of  Satan!"  he  said,  on  coming  up  for  the 
third  time,  "it's  now  too  late;  I  tell  you  that  I  am  — 
no,  that  I  was  —  by  medical  direction,  to  be  di-di-di-  40 
dipped  only  once." 


378 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


MRS.  MALAPROP   ON    EDUCATION    FOR   GIRLS 
Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan 

Sir  Anthony   Absolute.      Why,    Mrs.    Malaprop,    in 
moderation  now,  what  would  you  have  a  woman  know? 

Mrs.  Malaprop.  Observe  me,  Sir  Anthony,  I  would 
by  no  means  wish  a  daughter  of  mine  to  be  a  progeny 
of  learning;  I  don't  think  so  much  learning  becomes  a  5 
young  woman;  for  instance,  I  would  never  let  her 
meddle  with  Greek  or  Hebrew,  or  algebra,  or  simony,  or 
fluxions,  or  paradoxes,  or  such  inflammatory  branches 
of  learning  —  neither  would  it  be  necessary  for  her  to 
handle  any  of  your  mathematical,  astronomical,  dia-  10 
bolical  instruments.  But,  Sir  Anthony,  I  would  send 
her,  at  nine  years  old,  to  a  boarding-school  in  order  to 
learn  a  little  ingenuity  and  artifice.  Then,  sir,  she 
should  have  a  supercilious  knowledge  in  accounts;  and 
as  she  grew  up,  I  would  have  her  instructed  in  geometry,  15 
that  she  might  know  something  of  contagious  countries. 
But  above  all,  Sir  Anthony,  she  should  be  mistress  of 
orthodoxy,  that  she  might  not  mis-spell  and  mis-pro- 
nounce words  so  shamefully  as  girls  usually  do;  and 
likewise  that  she  might  reprehend  the  true  meaning  of  20 
what  she  is  saying.  This,  Sir  Anthony,  is  what  I  would 
have  a  woman  know, — and  I  don't  think  there  is  a 
superstitious  article  in  it. 

WHEN   MOONLIKE   ORE   THE   HAZURE   SEAS 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray 

When  moonlike  ore  the  hazure  seas 

In  soft  effulgence  swells, 
When  silver  jews  and  balmy  breaze 

Bend  down  the  Lily's  bells; 


WIT  AND  HUMOR 


379 


When  calm  and  deap,  the  rosy  sleap  5 

Has  lapt  your  soal  in  dreems, 
R  Hangeline !  R  lady  mine ! 

Dost  thou  remember  Jeames? 

I  mark  thee  in  the  Marble  All, 

Where  England's  loveliest  shine —  10 

I  say  the  fairest  of  them  hall 

Is  Lady  Hangeline. 
My  soul,  in  desolate  eclipse, 

With  recollection  teems  — 
And  then  I  hask,  with  weeping  lips,  15 

Dost  thou  remember  Jeames? 

Away !  I  may  not  tell  thee  hall 

This  soughring  heart  endures  — 
There  is  a  lonely  sperrit-call 

That  Sorrow  never  cures ;  20 

There  is  a  little,  little  Star, 

That  still  above  me  beams; 
It  is  the  Star  of  Hope  —  but  ar ! 

Dost  thou  remember  Jeames? 

LAPSUS   CALAMI 

TO    R.  K. 

James  Kenneth  Stephen 

Will  there  never  come  a  season 

Which  shall  rid  us  from  the  curse 

Of  a  prose  which  knows  no  reason 

And  an  unmelodious  verse : 

When  the  world  shall  cease  to  wonder  5 

At  the  genius  of  an  ass, 

And  a  boy's  eccentric  blunder 

Shall  not  bring  success  to  pass : 


380  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

When  mankind  shall  be  delivered 

From  the  clash  of  magazines, 

And  the  inkstand  shall  be  shivered 

Into  countless  smithereens : 

When  there  stands  a  muzzled  stripling, 

Mute,  beside  a  muzzled  bore : 

When  the  Rudyards  cease  from  kipling 

And  the  Haggards  ride  no  more. 


HE  IS  AN  ENGLISHMAN 
William  Schwenk  Gilbert 

He  is  an  Englishman, 

For  he  himself  has  said  it, 
And  it's  greatly  to  his  credit 

That  he  is  an  Englishman. 

For  he  might  have  been  a  Roosian, 
A  French,  or  Turk,  or  Proosian, 

Or  perhaps  Ital-i-an; 

But  in  spite  of  all  temptations 
To  belong  to  other  nations, 

He  remains  an  Englishman. 


THE   DIDACTIC  POEM 

Richard  Garnett 

Soulless,    colorless    strain,    thy  words    are   the   words   of 

wisdom. 
Is  not  a  mule  a  mule,  bear  he  a  burden  of  gold? 


WIT  AND  HUMOR  381 


THE   HEIGHT  OF   THE  RIDICULOUS 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 

I  wrote  some  lines  once  on  a  time 

In  wondrous  merry  mood, 
And  thought,  as  usual,  men  would  say 

They  were  exceeding  good. 

They  were  so  queer,  so  very  queer, 

I  laughed  as  I  would  die; 
Albeit,  in  the  general  way, 

A  sober  man  am  I. 

I  called  my  servant,  and  he  came; 

How  kind  it  was  of  him, 
To  mind  a  slender  man  like  me, 

He  of  the  mighty  limb ! 

"These  to  the  printer,"  I  exclaimed, 

And,  in  my  humorous  way, 
I  added  (as  a  trifling  jest), 

"There'll  be  the  devil  to  pay." 

He  took  the  paper,  and  I  watched, 

And  saw  him  peep  within; 
At  the  first  line  he  read,  his  face 

Was  all  upon  the  grin. 

He  read  the  next;  the  grin  grew  broad, 

And  shot  from  ear  to  ear. 
He  read  the  third;  a  chuckling  noise 

I  now  began  to  hear. 


-,g2  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

The  fourth;  he  broke  into  a  roar;  25 

The  fifth;  his  waistband  split; 
The  sixth ;  he  burst  five  buttons  off, 

And  tumbled  in  a  fit. 


Ten  days  and  nights,  with  sleepless  eye, 

I  watched  that  wretched  man,  30 

And  since,  I  never  dare  to  write 
As  funny  as  I  can. 


THE  PRODUCTIONS   OF  CEYLON 

Sydney  Smith 

Ceylon  produces  the  elephant,  the  buffalo,  tiger,  elk, 
wild  hog,  rabbit,  hare,  flying-fox,  and  musk-rat.  Many 
articles  are  rendered  entirely  useless  by  the  smell  of 
musk,  which  this  latter  animal  communicates  in  merely 
running  over  them.  Mr.  Percival  asserts,  and  the  fact 
has  been  confirmed  to  us  by  the  most  respectable 
authority,  that  if  it  even  pass  over  a  bottle  of  wine,  how- 
ever well  corked  and  sealed  up,  the  wine  becomes  so 
strongly  tainted  with  musk,  that  it  cannot  be  used;  and 
a  whole  cask  may  be  rendered  useless  in  the  same 
manner.  Among  the  great  variety  of  birds,  we  were 
struck  with  Mr.  Percival' s  account  of  the  honey-bird, 
into  whose  body  the  soul  of  a  common  informer  appears 
to  have  migrated.  It  makes  a  loud  and  shrill  noise,  to 
attract  the  notice  of  anybody  whom  it  may  perceive;  and 
thus  inducing  him  to  follow  the  course  it  points  out, 
leads  him  to  the  tree  where  the  bees  have  concealed 
their  treasure;  after  the  apiary  has  been  robbed,   this 


WIT  AND   HUMOR  383 

feathered  scoundrel  gleans  his  reward  from  the  hive. 
The  list  of  Ceylonese  snakes  is  hideous;  and  we  become  20 
reconciled  to  the  crude  and  cloudy  land  in  which  we 
live,  from  reflecting,  that  the  indiscriminate  activity  of 
the  sun  generates  what  is  loathsome,  as  well  as  what  is 
lovely;  that  the  asp  reposes  under  the  rose;  and  the 
scorpion  crawls  under  the  fragrant  flower  and  the  25 
luscious  fruit* 

The  usual  stories  are  repeated  here  of  the  immense 
size  and  voracious  appetite  of  a  certain  species  of  ser- 
pent. The  best  history  of  this  kind  we  ever  remember 
to  have  read,  was  of  a  serpent  killed  near  one  of  our  30 
settlements,  in  the  East  Indies,  in  whose  body  they 
found  the  chaplain  of  the  garrison,  all  in  black,  the  Rev. 
Mr. somebody  or  other,  whose  name  we  have  for- 
gotten, and  who,  after  having  been  missing  for  above  a 
week,  was  discovered  in  this  very  inconvenient  situation.  35 
The  dominions  of  the  King  of  Candy  are  partly  defended 
by  leeches,  which  abound  in  the  woods,  and  from  which 
our  soldiers  suffered  in  the  most  dreadful  manner.  The 
Ceylonese,  in  compensation  for  their  animated  plagues, 
are  endowed  with  two  vegetable  blessings,  the  cocoanut  40 
tree  and  the  talipot  tree.  The  latter  affords  a  pro- 
digious leaf,  impenetrable  to  sun  or  rain,  and  large 
enough  to  shelter  ten  men.  It  is  a  natural  umbrella, 
and  is  of  as  eminent  service  in  that  country  as  a  great- 
coat tree  would  be  in  this.  A  leaf  of  the  talipot  tree  is  45 
a  tent  to  the  soldier,  a  parasol  to  the  traveller,  and  a 
book  to  the  scholar.  The  cocoanut  tree  affords  bread, 
milk,  oil,  wine,  spirits,  vinegar,  yeast,  sugar,  cloth, 
paper,  huts,  and  ships. 


Which  sentences  are  serious,  which  humorous?     Use  care  in  judging 
of  the  last  in  the  selection. 


384  STUDY   OF  LITERATURE 


THE  LAST   LEAF 

I  saw  him  once  before 
As  he  passed  by  the  door, 

And  again 
The  pavement  stones  resound, 
As  he  totters  o'er  the  ground  5 

With  his  cane. 

They  say  that  in  his  prime, 
Ere  the  pruning-knife  of  Time 

Cut  him  down, 
Not  a  better  man  was  found  10 

By  the  Crier  on  his  round 

Through  the  town. 

But  now  he  walks  the  streets, 
And  he  looks  at  all  he  meets 

Sad  and  wan,  15 

And  he  shakes  his  feeble  head, 
That  it  seems  as  if  he  said, 

"They  are  gone." 

The  mossy  marbles  rest 

On  the  lips  that  he  has  prest  20 

In  their  bloom, 
And  the  names  he  loved  to  hear 
Have  been  carved  for  many  a  year 

On  the  tomb. 

My  grandmamma  has  said  —  25 

Poor  old  lady,  she  is  dead 
Long  ago  — 


WIT  AND   HUMOR  3g5 

That  he  had  a  Roman  nose, 
And  his  cheek  was  like  a  rose 

In  the  snow.  3o 

But  now  his  nose  is  thin, 
And  it  rests  upon  his  chin 

Like  a  staff, 
And  a  crook  is  in  his  back 
And  a  melancholy  crack  35 

In  his  laugh. 

I  know  it  is  a  sin 
For  me  to  sit  and  grin 

At  him  here; 
But  the  old  three-cornered  hat,  40 

And  the  breeches,  and  all  that, 

Are  so  queer ! 

And  if  I  should  live  to  be 
The  last  leaf  upon  the  tree 

In  the  spring,  45 

Let  them  smile  as  I  do  now, 
At  the  old  forsaken  bough 

Where  I  cling. 

The  skill  shown  in  the  metre  and  rhymes  is  very  great.  The  exquisite 
fourth  stanza  is  as  natural  as  conversation.  The  poem  is  eminently  worth 
learning. 

Plan  of  Summary.  —  Reviewing  the  chapter,  (1)  enumerate  the 
kinds  of  metre,  designating  them  by  the  number  of  accents,  and  by  the 
predominant  foot.  Then  (2)  say  which  poem  is  most  noticeable  for  mel- 
ody; (3)  which  for  beauty  of  suggested  sights;  (4)  which  for  pleasure 
of  suggested  sounds;  (5)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  activity; 
(6)  which  for  pleasure  of  suggested  odors  or  tastes;  (7)  which  is 
most  easily  understood;  (8)  which  moves  the  reader  most  deeply; 
(9)  which  shows  most  skill  in  character  drawing;  (io)  which  has  the 
best  unity;  (11)  which,  your  critical  judgment  tells  you,  is  the  best 
piece  of  work;  (12)  which  you  like  the  best, — without  regard  to  its 
deserved  rank,  or  its  fame. 

2C 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  FAR  GOAL 

At  fifteen  life  seems  very  long.  To  be  of  that  age  is 
like  being  up  very  early  in  the  morning.  If  man's  life  of 
seventy  years  be  likened  to  the  day  of  twenty-four  hours, 
then  when  one  is  fifteen  years  old  it  is  only  five  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  At  that  time  of  day,  what  may  one  not  expect 
to  happen  before  night ! 

The  golden  plans  of  the  youth  have  always  been  dear  to 
the  poet,  for  the  latter  recognizes  in  them  much  that  is  of 
high  promise.  Even  if  the  things  dreamed  of  are  very 
vague,  still  they  are  not  to  be  despised.  The  boy  who 
never  owns  air  castles  will  never  own  granite  castles. 
Lowell,  in  his  poem  of  Aladdin,  regrets  the  passing  of  the 
day  when  he  possessed  many  a  golden-roofed  palace  of 
dream-stuff.  George  William  Curtis,  in  a  very  beautiful 
My  essay,   lingers  over  his  Spanish  chateaux  with  the  same 

Chateaux,  affectjonate  remembrance.  He  finds  that  he  is  not  the 
only  man  who  holds  large  possessions  in  the  sunset  clouds. 
All  around  him  are  these  capitalists,  some  happy  in  their 
dreams,  though  these  never  come  true,  some  soured  and 
sad  because  they  can  never  reach  their  cloud-land  estates. 
There  are  countless  dreams  that  must  come  to  naught, 
for  we  know  very  little  of  human  nature,  and  less  of  the 
plans  of  Providence.  We  expect  to  find  money-making, 
or  learning,  or  truth-telling,  easier  than  these  things  are. 
We  are  constantly  surprised  to  observe  how  rapidly  our 
own  wishes  change.     We  tie  ourselves  down  to  a  certain 

386 


P-  391. 


THE  FAR    GOAL 


387 


place,  expecting  to  pass  our  days  there;  next  week  we 
wonder  why  we  ever  set  foot  in  that  place.  Nevertheless, 
dreams  are  a  good  thing.  If  we  are  sanguine  about  noth- 
ing, how  shall  we  get  anything  done  ?  If  we  do  not  believe 
there  is  much  goodness  in  human  nature,  how  shall  we  find 
any?  Suppose  life  does  cheat  us  and  bully  us;  cheats  and 
bullies  can  sometimes  be  bettered,  and  at  heart  they  are 
never  wholly  bad. 

The  chief  value  of  a  dream,  however,  lies  in  the  action 
that  grows  out  of  it  when  it  is  fading.     This  is  the  thought 
in   Charles   Kingsley's    One    Grand  Sweet  Song.     When   One  Grand 
young  people  begin  to  awake  from  their  day-dreams,  they  ^weet 
abandon  the  hope  of  reaching  quite  all  their  air-castles,   p.  397. 
but  they  have  learned  how  to  look  ahead  to  a  far  goal. 
What  can  be  said  of  this  far  goal  as  a  sober  possibility? 
Much,  as  we  shall  see. 

One  of  the  main  differences  between  the  beast  and  the 
savage  is  that  the  latter  is  the  more  provident,  looks 
farther  ahead.  The  same  difference  holds  in  turn  between 
the  savage  and  the  civilized  man.  The  higher  up  we  look, 
the  more  dread  do  we  find  of  living  from  hand  to  mouth. 
The  poor  white  trash  who  never  know  where  their  next 
meal  is  to  come  from  are  immeasurably  the  inferiors  of  men 
like  the  old  fur-trader  Astor,  who  see  ahead  for  months 
and  years.  Such  prudence  sacrifices,  if  necessary,  the 
happiness  of  the  present  moment  to  the  future  gain.  We 
avoid  excess  of  sweets  to-day  that  we  may  have  our  teeth 
ten  years  hence.  Shakspere's  old  Adam,  in  As  You  Like 
It,  declares  that  his  old  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter  because  in 
youth  he  did  not  woo  the  means  of  weakness  and  debility. 
From  this  point  of  view  virtue  means  foregoing  a  present 
pleasure  in  view  of  a  greater  one  to  come.  Heaven  itself  sweetistiie 
is  to  be  had  for  a  small  investment;  and  yet  the  famous  Rose- 
Elizabethan  poet  Spenser  had  to  argue  himself  into  tak-  P'397' 


388 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


ing  no  account  of  the  little  pain  that  buys  an  endless 
pleasure. 

On  the  whole,  education  is  one  of  the  most  nobly  pru- 
dent institutions  that  the  human  race  has  managed  to 
develop.  Going  to  school  may  be  said  to  have  two  prime 
objects;  objects  like  the  mere  acquisition  of  knowledge 
are  secondary.  The  first  prime  object  is  to  find  out  what 
one  is  good  for  in  life,  —  to  discover  one's  goal.  The 
second  is  to  get  the  strength  to  pursue  that  goal. 

It  is  extraordinarily  easy  not  to  find  out  what  one  is  good 
for.  Relatives  tried  to  make  a  merchant  out  of  Irving,  but 
his  firm  failed  and  a  great  humorist  was  thus  rescued  for  the 
world.  Relatives  tried  to  make  a  lawyer  out  of  Lowell,  but 
he  insisted  that  he  was  "a  bookman  "  by  nature,  and  a  book- 
man he  became.  The  number  of  able  men  who  have  missed 
their  calling  or  have  lacked  the  circumstances  which  develop 
great  possibilities  is  hinted  at  in  three  famous  stanzas  of 
Gray's  Elegy  Written  in  a  Country  Church  Yard. 

Some  persons  miss  their  calling  by  a  hasty  choice,  for 
which  years  will  not  atone.  Others  miss  it  from  neglecting 
opportunity,  and  these  are  probably  the  larger  number. 
Gaspar  Be-  The  well-advised  youth  will  seize  on  just  the  right  chance, 
cerra^  as  Longfellow's  artist  seized  upon  the  burning  brand  of  oak 

from  which  to  shape  his  image,  or  as  the  prince  in  Sill's 
poem  seized  the  weapon  a  coward  threw  down :  — 

Then  came  the  king's  son,  wounded,  sore  bestead, 

And  weaponless,  and  saw  the  broken  sword, 

Hilt-buried  in  the  dry  and  trodden  sand, 

And  ran  and  snatched  it,  and  with  battle-shout 

Lifted  afresh  he  hewed  his  enemy  down, 

And  saved  a  great  cause  that  heroic  day. 

The  second  chief  aim  of  going  to  school  is  to  learn  how, 
by  training  of  will  and  intellect,  to  attain  the  far  goal.  Of 
these  two  forms  of  training,  the  first  is  the  more  important, 


THE  FAR    GOAL 


389 


because   it  brings  about  the  second,  too.     Tennyson  ex- 
claims, "O  well  for  him  whose  will  is  strong."     Truly.    Wiil.p.399. 
But  will  is  like  anything  else  in  human  nature  —  it  may 
be  cultivated.     Just  as  an  inaccurate  person  may  become 
accurate,   so  a  weak-willed   person   may  become  strong- 
willed.     The  secret  lies  in  a  habit  of  doing  somewhat  hard 
things.     It  does  not  matter  so  much  what  the  things  are. 
The  point  is  that  when  the  resolve  has  been  made  to  do 
something  a  little  hard,  it  must  be  carried  into  effect  at 
once.     The  power  of  habit  is  brilliantly  explained  in  a   Habit, 
piece  of  prose  by  William  James,  a  distinguished  professor  p-  4°°' 
of  psychology.     The  nobility  of  a  habit  of  self-restraint  is 
the  subject  of  Emerson's  poem  called  Forbearance.  Forbear- 


ance, 


Progress  toward  any  goal  seems  slow  if  the  goal  is  dis- 
tant. The  goal  of  a  chicken  is  soon  reached,  and  there- 
fore nature  gives  him  the  satisfaction  of  seeming  to  get  on 
fast.  He  can  run  alone  as  soon  as  he  is  out  of  the  shell. 
The  man's  goal  is  infinitely  distant,  and  therefore,  as  Pro- 
fessor John  Fiske  has  shown,  nature  must  give  man  a  long 
infancy,  developing  one  power  at  a  time.  The  baby  may 
not  be  able  to  run  alone  when  a  day  old,  but  the  time  will 
come  when  he  will  be  worth  a  wilderness  of  chickens. 
The  strongest  nations  have  been  those  which  have  devel- 
oped slowly.  Precocity  is  as  dangerous  a  sign  in  a  people 
as  in  a  boy.  See  the  deliberation  with  which  the  Saxon 
race  has  spread,  "winning  by  inches,  holding  by  clinches  " 
—  as  Robert  Collyer  puts  it. 

A  person  who  grows  is  not  much  conscious  of  the  fact 
except  as  others  tell  him,  or  he  looks  back  upon  what  he 
was  long  since.     This  is  the  thought  in  Clough's  Say  not,    Say  not,  the 
the  Struggle  nought  Availeth.     In  the  east  the  sun  climbs  no"f/ftle 
slowly,  but  while  you  look  at  his  imperceptible  ascent  the   Availeth, 
western  land  behind  you  has  become  bright.     It  is  a  curi-   p-  4°T 
ous  fact  that  we  think  ourselves  to-day  the  same  persons 


390 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


we  were  ten  years  ago.     Yet  to  our  friends  we  were  proba- 
bly very  different  then,  and,  the  chances  are,  much  more 
disagreeable.     By  exercise  of  the  will  we  do  come  after  a 
The  Lad-     while  to  the  acquisition  of  power.     The  great  theologian 
Saint  °*  ^e  ear^  Latin  church  put  this  truth  into  poetic  form 

Augustine,    when  he  declared  that  every  evil  impulse  conquered  may 
p.  402.  ^  ma(je  a  rounci   in  a   ladder.     Longfellow  has  set  Au- 

gustine's thought  in  good  verse. 

It  is  desirable  to  find  out  what  one  is  good  for  in  life; 
it  is  delightful  to  find  out  that  one  is  good  for  something 
more  than  one  thought.  The  boy  who  aims  to  get  a  year 
of  school-life  (it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  school  is  life) 
does  well  if  by  Christmas  he  learns  that  he  cannot  get  along 
without  two  years.  The  girl  who  wishes  to  be  a  nurse  does 
well  if  she  discloses  real  capacity  for  being  a  doctor. 
The  youth  who  goes  into  business  is  fortunate  if  he  early 
learns  that  he  must  have  more  training,  more  sympathy  with 
education,  and  science,  and  civic  life,  and  religion,  and 
literature,  and  art,  if  he  is  to  be  a  man  among  men,  or 
capable  of  enjoying  his  money.  He  is  a  human  being 
before  he  is  a  business  man.  If  he  does  not  learn  this  he 
will  become  a  mere  cog  in  the  world's  machinery. 

Dr.  Holmes's  best  poem  has  aspiration  for  its  theme. 
He  saw  one  day  a  section  of  the  shell  called  the  chambered 
nautilus.  While  wondering  at  the  delicacy  of  its  irised 
interior,  he  reflected  on  the  way  the  spiral  grew.  The 
dim,  dreaming  life  of  the  little  tenant  spent  itself  in  build- 
ing each  year  a  new  and  larger  cell.     It 

Stole  with  soft  step  the  shining  archway  through, 

Built  up  its  idle  door, 
Stretched  in  its  last-found  home,  and  knew  the  old  no  more. 

The  sight  of  this  series  of  abandoned  dwellings  stirs  within 
the  poet  a  high  aspiration,  and  he  calls  upon  his  soul  to 


Fowl, 
p.  404. 


THE  FAR    GOAL  39! 

forget  the  low  ideals  of  the  past,  and  to  build  a  statelier 
mansion  with  each  returning  season. 

Whittier  has  a  poem  on  this  theme,  or  one  very  similar. 
He  and  his  friends  pursued  through  the  woods  the  noise 
of  a  waterfall,  and  seemed  to  catch  glimpses  of  its  signals, 
the  white  scarfs  of  its  foam;  but,  search  as  they  would,  the 
waterfall  eluded  them.  Meantime  however  they  had  seen 
every  other  lovely  thing  the  landscape  afforded. 

The  final  poem  in  this  chapter  has  a  very  different  con- 
ception from  any  of  the  others.  The  figure  of  struggle  and 
battle  used  so  often  before  is  now  changed  for  the  peaceful 
flight  of  a  bird.  The  goal  of  a  life  sometimes  seems  too 
far  away  to  be  reached.  Moving  toward  it  is  like  moving 
through  trackless  air.  Bryant  asks  of  the  Water- Fowl,  To  a 
whither  lies  its  way  through  the  depths  of  the  evening  Water 
sky.  The  bird  could  not  answer  if  it  heard.  It  cannot 
see  the  distant  lake  toward  which  it  is  moving  steadily  and 
swiftly.  The  bird  is  being  guided  by  a  Power.  It  is 
lone-wandering,  but  not  lost. 


MY  CHATEAUX1 

George  William  Curtis 

In  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan 

A  stately  pleasure-dome  decree.  —  Coleridge. 

I  am  the  owner  of  great  estates.  Many  of  them  lie  in 
the  West,  but  the  greater  part  are  in  Spain.  You  may 
see  my  western  possessions  any  evening  at  sunset,  when 
their  spires  and  battlements  flash  against  the  horizon. 

It  gives  me  a  feeling  of  pardonable  importance,  as  a 
proprietor,  that  they  are  visible,  to  my  eyes  at  least,  from 
any  part  of  the  world  in  which  I  chance  to  be.     In  my 

1  Reprinted  from  "  Prue  and  I,"  by  permission  of  Harper  and  Brothers. 


3Q2  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

long  voyage  around  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  to  India  (the 
only  voyage  I  ever  made,  when  I  was  a  boy  and  a  super- 
cargo), if  I  fell  homesick,  or  sank  into  a  revery  of  all  the  10 
pleasant  homes  I  had  left  behind,  I  had  but  to  wait  until 
sunset,  and  then  looking  toward  the  west,  I  beheld  my 
clustering  pinnacles  and  towers  brightly  burnished  as  if 
to  salute  and  welcome  me. 

So,  in  the  city,  if  I  get  vexed  and  wearied,  and  cannot   15 
find  my  wonted  solace  in  sallying  forth  at  dinner-time  to 
contemplate  the  gay  world  of  youth  and  beauty  hurrying 
to  the  congress  of  fashion  —  or  if  I  observe  that  years  are 
deepening  their  tracks  around  the  eyes  of  my  wife,  Prue, 
I  go  quietly  up  to  the  housetop,  toward  evening,  and  re-  20 
fresh  myself  with  a  distant  prospect  of  my  estates.     It  is 
as  dear  to  me  as  that  of  Eton  to  the  poet  Gray  j  and,  if 
I  sometimes  wonder  at  such   moments  whether  I  shall 
find  those  realms  as  fair  as  they  appear,  I  am  suddenly 
reminded  that  the  night  air  may  be  noxious,  and  descend-  25 
ing,  I  enter  the  little  parlor  where  Prue  sits  stitching, 
and  surprise  that  precious  woman  by  exclaiming  with  the 
poet's  pensive  enthusiasm  :  — 

Thought  would  destroy  their  Paradise, 
No  more;  — where  ignorance  is  bliss,  3° 

'Tis  folly  to  be  wise. 

Columbus,  also,  had  possessions  in  the  West ;  and  as  I 
read  aloud  the  romantic  story  of  his  life,  my  voice  quivers 
when  I  come  to  the  point  in  which  it  is  related  that  sweet 
odors  of  the  land  mingled  with  the  sea  air,  as  the  admiral's  35 
fleet  approached  the  shores  ;  that  tropical  birds  flew  out 
and  fluttered  around  the  ships,  glittering  in  the  sun,  the 
gorgeous  promises  of  the  new  country  ;  that  boughs, 
perhaps  with  blossoms  not  all  decayed,  floated  out  to 
welcome   the  strange  wood  from  which  the  craft  were  40 


THE  FAR    GOAL 


393 


hollowed.  Then  I  cannot  restrain  myself.  I  think  of 
the  gorgeous  visions  I  have  seen  before  I  have  even 
undertaken  the  journey  to  the  West,  and  I  cry  aloud  to 
Prue,  — 

"  What  sun-bright  birds,  and  gorgeous  blossoms,  and  45 
celestial  odors  will  float  out  to  us,  my  Prue,  as  we  ap- 
proach our  western  possessions  !  " 

The  placid  Prue  raises  her  eyes  to  mine  with  a  reproof 
so  delicate  that  it  could  not  be  trusted  to  words ;  and, 
after  a  moment,  she  resumes  her  knitting  and  I  proceed.  50 

These  are  my  western  estates,  but  my  finest  castles  are 
in  Spain.  It  is  a  country  famously  romantic,  and  my 
castles  are  all  of  perfect  proportions,  and  appropriately 
set  in  the  most  picturesque  situations.  I  have  never 
been  to  Spain  myself,  but  I  have  naturally  conversed  55 
much  with  travellers  to  that  country  ;  although,  I  must 
allow,  without  deriving  from  them  much  substantial  infor- 
mation about  my  property  there.  The  wisest  of  them 
told  me  that  there  were  more  holders  of  real  estate  in 
Spain  than  in  any  other  region  he  had  ever  heard  of,  60 
and  they  are  all  great  proprietors.  Every  one  of  them 
possesses  a  multitude  of  the  stateliest  castles.  From  con- 
versation with  them  you  easily  gather  that  each  one  con- 
siders his  own  castles  much  the  largest  and  in  the  loveliest 
positions.  And,  after  I  had  heard  this  said,  I  verified  it,  65 
by  discovering  that  all  my  immediate  neighbors  in  the 
city  were  great  Spanish  proprietors. 

One  day  as  I  raised  my  head  from  entering  some  long 
and  tedious  accounts  in  my  books,  and  began  to  reflect 
that  the  quarter  was  expiring,  and  that  I  must  begin  to  70 
prepare  the  balance-sheet,  I  observed  my  subordinate, 
in  office  but  not  in  years  (for  poor  old  Titbottom  will 
never  see  sixty  again  !),  leaning  on  his  hand,  and  much 
abstracted. 


394  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

"  Are  you  not  well,  Titbottom  ?  "  asked  I.  75 

"  Perfectly,  but  I  was  just  building  a  castle  in  Spain," 
said  he. 

I  looked  at  his  rusty  coat,  his  faded  hands,  his  sad  eye, 
and  white  hair,  for  a  moment,  in  great  surprise,  and  then 
inquired,  —  80 

" Is  it  possible  that  you  own  property  there  too?" 

He  shook  his  head  silently;  and  still  leaning  on  his 
hand,  and  with  an  expression  in  his  eye  as  if  he  were 
looking  upon  the  most  fertile  estate  of  Andalusia,  he  went 
on  making  his  plans, —  laying  out  his  gardens,  I  suppose,  85 
building  terraces  for  the  vines,  determining  a  library  with 
a  southern  exposure,  and  resolving  which  should  be  the 
tapestried  chamber. 

"  What  a  singular  whim,"  thought  I,  as  I  watched  Tit- 
bottom  and  filled  up  a  check  for  four  hundred  dollars,  my  90 
quarterly  salary, "  that  a  man  who  owns  castles  in  Spain 
should  be  deputy  bookkeeper  at  nine  hundred  dollars  a 
year ! " 

When  I  went  home  I  ate  my  dinner  silently,  and  after- 
ward sat  for  a  long  time  upon  the  roof  of  the  house,  look-  95 
ing  at  my  western  property,  and  thinking  of  Titbottom. 

It  is  remarkable  that  none  of  the  proprietors  have  ever 
been  to  Spain  to  take  possession  and  report  to  the  rest  of 
us  the  state  of  our  property  there.  I,  of  course,  cannot 
go,  I  am  too  much  engaged.  So  is  Titbottom.  And  1 100 
find  it  is  the  case  with  all  the  proprietors.  We  have  so 
much  to  detain  us  at  home  that  we  cannot  get  away. 
But  it  is  always  so  with  rich  men.  Prue  sighed  once  as 
she  sat  at  the  window  and  saw  Bourne,  the  millionnaire, 
the  President  of  innumerable  companies,  and  manager  105 
and  director  of  all  the  charitable  societies  in  town,  going 
by  with  wrinkled  brow  and  hurried  step.  I  asked  her 
why  she  sighed. 


THE   FAR    GOAL  395 

"Because  I  was  remembering   that   my  mother  used 
to  tell  me  not  to  desire  great  riches,  for  they  occasioned  no 
great  cares,"  said  she. 

"  They  do  indeed,"  answered  I,  with  emphasis,  remem- 
bering Titbottom,  and  the  impossibility  of  looking  after 
my  Spanish  estates. 

Prue  turned  and  looked  at  me  with  mild  surprise ;  but  115 
I  saw  that  her  mind  had  gone  down  the  street  with  Bourne. 
I  could  never  discover  if  he  held  much  Spanish  stock. 
But  I  think  he  does.  All  the  Spanish  proprietors  have  a 
certain  expression.  Bourne  has  it  to  a  remarkable  degree. 
It  is  a  kind  of  look,  as  if,  in  fact,  a  man's  mind  were  in  120 
Spain.  Bourne  was  an  old  lover  of  Prue's,  and  he  is  not 
married,  which  is  strange  for  a  man  in  his  position. 

It  is  not  easy  for  me  to  say  how  I  know  so  much,  as 
I  certainly  do,  about  my  castles  in  Spain.  The  sun 
always  shines  upon  them.  They  stand  lofty  and  fair  in  125 
a  luminous,  golden  atmosphere,  a  little  hazy  and  dreamy, 
perhaps,  like  the  Indian  summer,  but  in  which  no  gales 
blow  and  there  are  no  tempests.  All  the  sublime  moun- 
tains, and  beautiful  valleys,  and  soft  landscape,  that  I 
have  not  yet  seen,  are  to  be  found  in  the  grounds.  They  130 
command  a  noble  view  of  the  Alps ;  so  fine,  indeed,  that 
I  should  be  quite  content  with  the  prospect  of  them  from 
the  highest  tower  of  my  castle,  and  not  care  to  go  to 
Switzerland. 

The  neighboring  ruins,  too,  are  as  picturesque  as  those  135 
of  Italy,  and  my  desire  of  standing  in  the  Coliseum,  and 
of  seeing  the  shattered  arches  of  the  Aqueducts  stretch- 
ing along  the  Campagna  and  melting  into  the  Alban 
Mount,  is  entirely  quenched.  The  rich  gloom  of  my 
orange  groves  is  gilded  by  fruit  as  brilliant  of  complexion  140 
and  exquisite  of  flavor  as  any  that  ever  dark- eyed  Sor- 
rento  girls,  looking   over   the   high   plastered   walls   of 


396 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


southern  Italy,  hand  to  the  youthful  travellers,  climbing 
on  donkeys  up  the  narrow  lane  beneath. 

The  Nile  flows  through  my  grounds.  The  Desert  lies  145 
upon  their  edge,  and  Damascus  stands  in  my  garden.  I 
am  given  to  understand,  also,  that  the  Parthenon  has 
been  removed  to  my  Spanish  possessions.  The  Golden- 
Horn  is  my  fish-preserve  ;  my  flocks  of  golden  fleece  are 
pastured  on  the  plain  of  Marathon,  and  the  honey  of  150 
Hymettus  is  distilled  from  the  flowers  that  grow  in  the 
vale  of  Enna  —  all  in  my  Spanish  domains. 

From  the  windows  of  those  castles  look  the  beautiful 
women  whom  I  have  never  seen,  whose  portraits  the 
poets  have  painted.  They  wait  for  me  there,  and  chiefly  155 
the  fair- haired  child,  lost  to  my  eyes  so  long  ago,  now 
bloomed  into  an  impossible  beauty.  The  lights  that 
never  shone,  glance  at  evening  in  the  vaulted  halls,  upon 
banquets  that  were  never  spread.  The  bands  I  have 
never  collected,  play  all  night  long,  and  enchant  the  160 
brilliant  company,  that  was  never  assembled,  into  silence. 

In  the  long  summer  mornings  the  children  that  I  never 
had,  play  in  the  gardens  that  I  never  planted.  I  hear 
their  sweet  voices  sounding  low  and  far  away,  calling 
"  Father  !  father  !  "  I  see  the  lost  fair-haired  girl,  grown  165 
now  into  a  woman,  descending  the  stately  stairs  of  my 
castle  in  Spain,  stepping  out  upon  the  lawn,  and  playing 
with  those  children.  They  bound  away  together  down 
the  garden ;  but  those  voices  linger,  this  time  airily  call- 
ing, "  Mother  !  mother  !  "  .  .  .  170 

As  the  years  go  by,  I  am  not  conscious  that  my  interest 
diminishes.  If  I  see  that  age  is  subtly  sifting  his  snow  in 
the  dark  hair  of  my  Prue,  I  smile,  contented,  for  her  hair, 
dark  and  heavy  as  when  I  first  saw  it,  is  all  carefully  treas- 
ured in  my  castles  in  Spain.  If  I  feel  her  arm  more  175 
heavily  leaning  upon  mine,  as  we  walk  around  the  squares, 


THE  FAR    GOAL 


397 


I  press  it  closely  to  my  side,  for  I  know  that  the  easy 
grace  of  her  youth's  motion  will  be  restored  by  the  elixir 
of  that  Spanish  air.  If  her  voice  sometimes  falls  less 
clearly  from  her  lips,  it  is  no  less  sweet  to  me,  for  the  180 
music  of  her  voice's  prime  fills,  freshly  as  ever,  those 
Spanish  halls.  If  the  light  I  love  fades  a  little  from  her 
eyes,  I  know  that  the  glances  she  gave  me,  in  our  youth, 
are  the  eternal  sunshine  of  my  castles  in  Spain. 

ONE   GRAND   SWEET   SONG 

Charles  Kingsley 

My  fairest  child,  I  have  no  song  to  give  you, 
No  lark  could  sing  'neath  skies  so  dull  and  gray, 
But,  if  you  will,  a  quiet  hint  I'll  give  you 
For  every  day,  for  every  day. 

I'll  teach  you  how  to  sing  a  clearer  carol  5 

Than  lark  that  hails  the  dawn  or  breezy  down; 
To  win  yourself  a  purer  poet's  laurel 
Than  Shakspere's  crown. 

Be  good,  sweet  maid,  and  let  who  will  be  clever. 
Do  noble  things,  not  dream  them  all  day  long;  10 

And  so  make  life,  death,  and  that  vast  forever 
One  grand,  sweet  song. 

SWEET   IS   THE    ROSE 

Edmund  Spenser 

Sweet  is  the  rose,  but  grows  upon  a  brere; 
Sweet  is  the  juniper,  but  sharp  his  bough; 
Sweet  is  the  eglantine,  but  pricketh  near; 
Sweet  is  the  firbloom,  but  his  branches  rough; 

3.  near,  keenly. 


398 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Sweet  is  the  cyprus,  but  his  rind  is  tough; 

Sweet  is  the  nut,  but  bitter  is  his  pill; 

Sweet  is  the  broom  flower,  but  yet  sour  enough; 

And  sweet  is  moly,  but  his  root  is  ill; 

So,  every  sweet  with  sour  is  tempered  still, 

That  maketh  it  be  coveted  the  more : 

For  easy  things  that  may  be  got  at  will 

Most  sorts  of  men  do  set  but  little  store. 

Why  then  should  I  account  of  little  pain, 

That  endless  pleasure  shall  unto  me  gain? 

14.   That  =  that  which. 


GASPAR   BECERRA 
Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

By  his  evening  fire  the  artist 
Pondered  o'er  his  secret  shame; 

Baffled,  weary,  and  disheartened, 

Still  he  mused,  and  dreamed  of  fame. 

'Twas  an  image  of  the  Virgin 
That  had  tasked  his  utmost  skill; 

But  alas !  his  fair  ideal 

Vanished  and  escaped  him  still. 

From  a  distant  Eastern  island 

Had  the  precious  wood  been  brought; 

Day  and  night  the  anxious  master 
At  his  toil  untiring  wrought; 

Till,  discouraged  and  desponding, 
Sat  he  now  in  shadows  deep, 

And  the  day's  humiliation 
Found  oblivion  in  sleep. 


THE  FAR    GOAL  399 

Then  a  voice  cried,  "Rise,  O  master! 

From  the  burning  brand  of  oak 
Shape  the  thought  that  stirs  within  thee ! " 

And  the  startled  artist  woke,  —  20 

Woke,  and  from  the  smoking  embers 
Seized  and  quenched  the  glowing  wood; 

And  therefrom  he  carved  an  image, 
And  he  saw  that  it  was  good. 

O  thou  sculptor,  painter,  poet !  25 

Take  this  lesson  to  thy  heart : 
That  is  best  which  lieth  nearest; 

Shape  from  that  thy  work  of  art. 


WILL 

Alfred  Tennyson 

O  well  for  him  whose  will  is  strong ! 

He  suffers,  but  he  will  not  suffer  long; 

He  suffers,  but  he  cannot  suffer  wrong : 

For  him  nor  moves  the  loud  world's  random  mock, 

Nor  all  Calamity's  hugest  waves  confound,  5 

Who  seems  a  promontory  of  rock, 

That,  compass' d  round  with  turbulent  sound, 

In  middle  ocean  meets  the  surging  shock, 

Tempest-buffeted,  citadel-crown' d. 

11 
But  ill  for  him  who,  bettering  not  with  time,  10 

Corrupts  the  strength  of  heaven-descended  Will, 
And  ever  weaker  grows  thro'  acted  crime, 
Or  seeming-genial  venial  fault, 

13.  getiial  here  means  harmless. 


400  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Recurring  and  suggesting  still ! 

He  seems  as  one  whose  footsteps  halt, 

Toiling  in  immeasurable  sand, 

And  o'er  a  weary  sultry  land, 

Far  beneath  a  blazing  vault, 

Sown  in  a  wrinkle  of  the  monstrous  hill, 

The  city  sparkles  like  a  grain  of  salt. 


HABIT1 

William  James 

Habit  is  thus  the  enormous  fly-wheel  of  society,  its 
most  precious  conservative  agent.  It  alone  is  what 
keeps  us  all  within  the  bounds  of  ordinance,  and  saves 
the  children  of  fortune  from  the  envious  uprisings  of  the 
poor.  It  alone  prevents  the  hardest  and  most  repulsive  5 
walks  of  life  from  being  deserted  by  those  brought  up  to 
tread  therein.  It  keeps  the  fisherman  and  the  deck- 
hand at  sea  through  the  winter;  it  holds  the  miner  in 
his  darkness,  and  nails  the  countryman  to  his  log-cabin 
and  his  lonely  farm  through  all  the  months  of  snow;  it  10 
protects  us  from  invasion  by  the  natives  of  the  desert 
and  the  frozen  zone.  It  dooms  us  all  to  fight  out  the 
battle  of  life  upon  the  lines  of  our  nurture  or  our  early 
choice,  and  to  make  the  best  of  a  pursuit  that  disagrees, 
because  there  is  no  other  for  which  we  are  fitted,  and  it  J5 
is  too  late  to  begin  again.  It  keeps  different  social 
strata  from  mixing.  Already  at  the  age  of  twenty-five 
you  see  the  professional  mannerism  settling  down  on 
the  young  commercial  traveller,  on  the  young  doctor,  on 
the  young  minister,  on  the  young  counsellor-at-law.     You  20 

1  Reprinted  from  the  "  Principles  of  Psychology,"  by  permission  of  Henry 
Holt  &  Co. 


THE  FAR    GOAL 


401 


see  the  little  lines  of  cleavage  running  through  the  char- 
acter, the  tricks  of  thought,  the  prejudices,  the  ways  of 
the  "shop,"  in  a  word,  from  which  the  man  can  by  and 
by  no  more  escape  than  his  coat-sleeve  can  suddenly  fall 
into  a  new  set  of  folds.  On  the  whole,  it  is  best  he  25 
should  not  escape.  It  is  well  for  the  world  that  in  most 
of  us,  by  the  age  of  thirty,  the  character  has  set  like 
plaster,  and  will  never  soften  again. 

FORBEARANCE 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

Hast  thou  named  all  the  birds  without  a  gun? 

Loved  the  wood-rose,  and  left  it  on  its  stalk? 

At  rich  men's  tables  eaten  bread  and  pulse? 

Unarmed,  faced  danger  with  a  heart  of  trust  ? 

And  loved  so  well  a  high  behavior,  5 

In  man  or  maid,  that  thou  from  speech  refrained, 

Nobility  more  nobly  to  repay  ? 

Oh,  be  my  friend,  and  teach  me  to  be  thine ! 

SAY  NOT,   THE   STRUGGLE   NOUGHT  AVAILETH 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough 

Say  not,  the  struggle  nought  availeth, 
The  labor  and  the  wounds  are  vain, 

The  enemy  faints  not,  nor  faileth, 
And  as  things  have  been  they  remain. 

If  hopes  were  dupes,  fears  may  be  liars;  5 

It  may  be,  in  yon  smoke  concealed, 

Your  comrades  chase  e'en  now  the  fliers, 
And,  but  for  you,  possess  the  field. 


402 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

For  while  the  tired  waves,  vainly  breaking, 
Seem  here  no  painful  inch  to  gain, 

Far  back,  through  creeks  and  inlets  making, 
Comes  silent,  flooding  in,  the  main. 

And  not  by  eastern  windows  only, 

When  daylight  comes,  comes  in  the  light; 

In  front,  the  sun  climbs  slow,  how  slowly, 
But  westward,  look,  the  land  is  bright. 


THE  LADDER  OF   SAINT  AUGUSTINE 
Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

Saint  Augustine !  well  hast  thou  said, 
That  of  our  vices  we  can  frame 

A  ladder,  if  we  will  but  tread 
Beneath  our  feet  each  deed  of  shame ! 

All  common  things,  each  day's  events, 
That  with  the  hour  begin  and  end, 

Our  pleasures  and  our  discontents, 
Are  rounds  by  which  we  may  ascend. 

The  low  desire,  the  base  design, 
That  makes  another's  virtues  less; 

The  revel  of  the  treacherous  wine, 
And  all  occasions  of  excess; 

The  longing  for  ignoble  things; 

The  strife  for  triumph  more  than  truth; 
The  hardening  of  the  heart  that  brings 

Irreverence  for  the  dreams  of  youth; 


THE  FAR    GOAL  403 

All  thoughts  of  ill;  all  evil  deeds, 

That  have  their  root  in  thoughts  of  ill; 

Whatever  hinders  or  impedes 

The  action  of  the  nobler  will :  20 


All  these  must  first  be  trampled  down 

Beneath  our  feet,  if  we  would  gain 
In  the  bright  fields  of  fair  renown 

The  right  of  eminent  domain. 

We  have  not  wings,  we  cannot  soar;  25 

But  we  have  feet  to  scale  and  climb 
By  slow  degrees,  by  more  and  more, 

The  cloudy  summits  of  our  time. 

The  mighty  pyramids  of  stone 

That  wedge-like  cleave  the  desert  airs,  30 

When  nearer  seen  and  better  known, 

Are  but  gigantic  flights  of  stairs. 

The  distant  mountains  that  uprear 

Their  solid  bastions  to  the  skies, 
Are  crossed  by  pathways,  that  appear  35 

As  we  to  higher  levels  rise. 

The  heights  by  great  men  reached  and  kept 

Were  not  attained  by  sudden  flight, 
But  they,  while  their  companions  slept, 

Were  toiling  upward  in  the  night.  40 

Standing  on  what  too  long  we  bore 

With  shoulders  bent,  and  downcast  eyes, 

We  may  discern  —  unseen  before  — 
A  path  to  higher  destinies. 


404  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Nor  deem  the  irrevocable  Past  45 

As  wholly  wasted,  wholly  vain, 

If,  rising  on  its  wrecks,  at  last 
To  something  nobler  we  attain. 


TO  A  WATER-FOWL 

William  Cullen  Bryant 

Whither,  midst  falling  dew, 
While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps  of  day, 
Far,  through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou  pursue 

Thy  solitary  way? 

Vainly  the  fowler's  eye  5 

Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong, 
As,  darkly  painted  on  the  crimson  sky, 

Thy  figure  floats  along. 

Seek' st  thou  the  plashy  brink 
Of  weedy  lake,  or  marge  of  river  wide,  10 

Or  where  the  rocking  billows  rise  and  sink 

On  the  chafed  ocean-side? 

There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast  — 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air —  15 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

All  day  thy  wings  have  fanned, 
At  that  far  height,  the  cold,  thin  atmosphere, 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land, 

Though  the  dark  night  is  near.  20 

7-8.  Bryant  felt  the  difficulty  of  a  "  painting  "  that  moves,  but  he  decided 
not  to  change  an  image  for  which  so  much  could  be  said. 


THE  FAR   GOAL  405 

And  soon  that  toil  shall  end; 
Soon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home,  and  rest, 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows;  reeds  shall  bend, 

Soon,  o'er  thy  sheltered  nest. 

Thou'rt  gone,  the  abyss  of  heaven  25 

Hath  swallowed  up  thy  form;  yet,  on  my  heart 
Deeply  has  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast  given, 

And  shall  not  soon  depart. 

He  who,  from  zone  to  zone, 
Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight,  30 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone, 

Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 


406 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE  OF  BRITISH  AND   AMERICAN 
AUTHORS 


Sixteenth  Century 


Author. 

Date  and  Name  of 
First  Work. 

V 

2 

Work  in  Present  Vol- 
ume, and  Chapter 

Edmund  Spenser 
William  Shakspere 

1569  Theatre  of  Vo- 
luptuous Worldlings 
1588?  Titus  Androni- 
cus 

17 

24 

77 

52 

Sweet  is  the  Rose  VII 

Hark,  hark,  the  lark  VII 
A  Fop  VIII 

Seventeenth  Century 

George  Herbert 

1631  The  Temple 

33 

■\" 

Sweet  day,  so  cool  VII 

Eighteenth  Century 

Benjamin  Franklin 


Earl  of  Chatham 

William  Julius 
Mickle 

Richard  Brinsley 
Sheridan 


1725    Liberty    and 
Necessity 

1736  (First  speech  in 

Parliament) 
1761  Knowledge,  an 

Ode 

1775  The  Rivals 


19 

84 

28 

70 

26 

S3 

24 

65 

Remarks  concerning  the 
Savages  of  North 
America  VIII 

The  American  Revolu- 
tion II 

There's  nae  luck  VI 


Mrs.  Malaprop  on  Edu- 
cation IX 


1  The  first  number  gives  the  age  at  which  the  author  published  his  first 
volume ;  the  second  gives  his  age  at  death.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  differ- 
ence, in  value,  among  the  first  works.  For  example,  those  of  Herbert, 
Sheridan,  Wordsworth,  Scott,  Lamb,  Byron,  Emerson,  Ruskin,  Barnes, 
Clough,  Whitman,  and  Symonds  are  representative  of  their  authors,  while 
those  of  Mrs.  Hemans,  Bryant,  Longfellow,  Holmes,  Lowell,  and  Patmore 
are  crude  juvenile  performances,  now  forgotten.  Bryant's  best  poem, 
Thanatopsis,  was  however  written  early  enough  (at  18)  to  entitle  him  to 
a  place  in  the  first  of  the  lists  just  given.  It  must  not  be  forgotten  that 
some  authors  wrote  much  before  they  published.  Some,  like  Mr.  Watts- 
Dunton,  Professor  James,  Miss  Dickinson,  and  Mr.  Canton  seem  to  have 
courted  obscurity  as  long  as  possible.  A  distinguished  art  critic,  Mr.  William 
James  Stillman,  recently  published  at  seventy  a  volume  of  essays  which,  he 


CHRONOLOGICAL    TABLE 
Nineteenth  Century,  First  Half 


407 


Date  and  Name  of 

1 

2 

Work  in  Present  Vol- 

Author. 

First  Work. 

ume,  and  Chapter. 

Walter    Savage 

1795  Poems 

28 

89 

Rhodope  and  Aesop  VI 

Landor 

William   Words- 

1798 Lyrical  Ballads 

28 

80 

March  VII 

worth 

I  wandered  lonely  VII 
My  heart  leaps  up  VII 

Sir  Walter  Scott 

1805  Lay  of  the  Last 

Minstrel 
1807  Peter  Plimley's 

34 

61 

Helvellyn  I 

Sydney  Smith 

38 

74 

The  Products  of  Ceylon 

Letters 

IX 

Charles  Lamb 

1807  Tales    from 
Shakespeare 

32 

59 

The    Young    Montagu 
VIII 

Lord  Byron 

1807  Hours  of  Idle- 

19 

46 

Swimming  IV 

Felicia  Hemans 

1808  Early  Blossoms 

14 

4i 

Landing  of  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers  III 

William  Cullen 

1808  The  Embargo 

14 

84 

The  Twenty-Second  of 

Bryant 

December  III 
The  Yellow  Violet  VII 
June  VII 
The    Death    of    the 

Flowers  VII 

November  VII 

To  a  Water-Fowl  X 

B.  W.  Procter 

1820  A  Sicilian  Story 

33 

87 

The  Sea  VII 

(Barry  Cornwall) 

Charles  Wolfe 

1825  Literary  Re- 
mains 

32 

The  Burial  of  Sir  John 
Moore  II 

Charles    Tennyson- 

1827  Poems  by  Two 

19 

7i 

The  Lattice  at  Sunrise 

Turner 

Brothers 

VII 

Alfred,  Lord  Tenny- 

1827 Poems  by  Two 

20 

83 

The  Charge  of  the  Light 

son 

Brothers 

Brigade  II 

The  Revenge  II 

In  the  Children's  Hos- 
pital III 

Sir  Galahad  VIII 

The  Shell  VII 

The  Eagle  VII 

said,  he  should  have  been  glad  to  defer  another  ten  years  if  he  had  been 
reasonably  sure  of  ten  years.  Contrast  such  solicitude  for  ripeness  with 
the  childish  eagerness  of  Mrs.  Hemans,  Bryant,  and  Coventry  Patmore !  Of 
course,  essays  worth  the  reading  imply  greater  maturity  than  lyric  poetry, 
—  in  which  the  writer  needs  to  express  only  his  own  feelings,  not  a  wise 
judgment  on  many  matters.  It  is  a  natural  and  excellent  practice  for  boys 
and  girls  to  express  their  feelings  in  verse.  Yet  even  in  lyric  poetry  children 
rarely  produce  what  is  worth  printing.  It  is  different  in  music ;  musical 
prodigies  are  common. 


40g  STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 

Nineteenth  Century,  First  Half — Continued. 


Date  and  Name  of 

1 

2 

Work  in  Present  Vol- 

Author. 

First  Work. 

ume,  and  Chapter. 

The   Voyage   of  Mael- 

dune  V 

Will  X 

Henry  Wadsworth 

1826  Miscellaneous 

19 

75 

The  Arsenal  at  Spring- 

Longfellow 

Poems,  with  other 
authors 

field  III 
Sand  of  the  Desert  in 

an  Hour-Glass  V 
The  Secret  of  the  Sea  V 
Sunrise  on  the  Hills  VII 
Gaspar  Becerra  X 
The    Ladder    of   Saint 

Augustine  X 

Oliver  Wendell 

1827  Poetic  illustra- 

16 

85 

The  Height  of  the  Ridic- 

Holmes 

tions  of  the  Athe- 
naeum Gallery,  with 
other  authors 

ulous  IX 
The  Last  Leaf  IX 

Edgar  Allan  Poe 

1827  Tamerlane 

17 

38 

The  Haunted  Palace  IV 

Caroline  Norton 

1829  The  Sorrows  of 
Rosalie 

21 

67 

The  King  of  Denmark's 
Ride  I 

John  Greenleaf 

1831  Legends  of  New 

23 

85 

The   Angels  of   Buena 

Whittier 

England 

Vista  II 
Barclay  of  Ury  III 

Robert  Browning 

1833  Pauline 

21 

77 

How  they  brought  the 

Good  News  I 
Tray  I 
Incident  of  the  French 

Camp  II 

Herve  Riel  II 

Oh !      our     manhood's 

John  Stuart  Blackie 

1834  Translation  of 
Goethe's  Faust 

25 

84 

prime  vigor  IV 
My  Bath  IV 

Sir    Francis    Has- 

1834 Miscellaneous 

23 

77 

The  Private  of  the  Buffs 

tings  Doyle 

Verses 

II 

The  Loss  of  the  Birken- 
head II 

John  Henry,  Cardi- 

1835 Parochial  Ser- 

34 

89 

The  Gentleman  VIII 

nal  Newman 

mons 

Robert  Nicoll 

1835  Poems     and 
Lyrics 

1836  Nature 

21 

23 

The  Hero  III 

Ralph  Waldo  Emer- 

33 

79 

Concord  Hymn  II 

son 

The  Rhodora  VII 
'Twas     one    of     the 

charmed   days   VII 
The  Humble-Bee  VII 
The  Snow-Storm  VII 
Tact  VIII 
Forbearance  X 

William  Makepeace 

1837  Yellowplush 

26 

52 

The    End   of  the    Play 

Thackeray 

Papers 

VIII 

When  Moonlike  IX 

CHRONOLOGICAL    TABLE  409 

Nineteenth  Century,  First  Half  —  Continued 


James     Russell 
Lowell 

John  Ruskin 

William  Barnes 

Charles  Kingsley 


Coventry  Patmore 
Matthew  Arnold 


Arthur      Hugh 

Clough 
Sydney  D  obeli 


Date  and  Name  of 
First  Work. 


1838  Class  Poem 


1843  Modern  Paint- 
ers, v.  i 

1844  Poems   in    the 
Dorsetshire  dialect 

1844  Village  Ser- 
mons 


1844  Poems 
1848  The  Strayed 
Reveller 

1848  The  Bothie  of 
Tober-Na-Vuolich 
1850  The  Roman 


1 

2 

19 

72 

24 

43 

85 

25 

56 

11 

26 

73 
66 

29 

42 

26 

So 

Work  in  Present  Vol- 
ume, and  Chapter. 

Incident  of  the  Fire  at 

Hamburgh  III     - 
To  the  Dandelion  VII 
The  Bird 'VI I 
Of  Vulgarity  VIII 
Mary-Ann's  Child  VI 

The  Three  Fishers  III 
The  Old,  Old  Song  VI 
The  Merry  Lark  VI 
One  Grand,  Sweet  Song 

X 
The  Toys  VI 
The  Forsaken  Merman 

VI 
Sohrab  and  Rustum  VI 
Say  not,  the  struggle  X 

How's  my  boy  ?   VI 


Nineteenth  Century,  Second  Half 


George    William 

1851  Nile  Notes  of 

27 

63 

My  Chateaux  X 

Curtis 

a  Howadji 

Gerald  Massey 

1854  The  Ballad  of 
Babe  Christabel 

26 

The  Deserter  from  the 
Cause  II 

Richard  Doddridge 

1854  Poems  by  Me- 

29 

The  Great  Winter  IV 

Blackmore 

lanter 

Driven  beyond  Endur- 
ance IV 

Walt  Whitman 

1855  Leaves  of  Grass 

36 

72 

Reconciliation  III 
Patroling  Barnegat  III 
The  Runner  IV 
Warble  for  Lilac-Time 
VII 

John  Antrobus 

The  Cow-Boy  V 

Theodore     Watts- 

Midshipman  Lanyon  II 

Dunton 

The    Octopus   of   the 
Golden  Isles  VIII 

William    Schwenk 

He   is    an    Englishman 

Gilbert 

IX 

Richard  Garnett 

1858  Primula 

23 

The  Didactic  Poem  IX 

Thomas  Wentworth 

1858  Woman    and 

3° 

Decoration  II 

Higginson 

her  Wishes 

Thomas  Ashe 

1859  Poems 

23 

63 

Sympathy  VII 

Kate    Putnam   Os- 

Driving Home  the  Cows 

good 

VI 

Robert  Buchanan 

1866  London  Poems 

25 

Two  Sons  VI 

4io 


STUDY  OF  LITERATURE 


Nineteenth  Century,  Second  Half  —  Continued 


Date  and  Name  of 

1 

2 

Work  in  Present  Vol- 

Author. 

First  Work. 

ume,  and  Chapter. 

Sidney  Lanier 

1867  Tiger  Lilies 

25 

39 

Song   of   the    Chatta- 
hoochee VII 

Sarah  Williams 

1868  Twilight  Hours 

27 

27 

Omar  and  the   Persian 

VIII 
Scythe  Song  VII 

Andrew  Lang 

1872  Ballads  and  Lyr- 

28 

ics  of  Old  France 

George    Cary    Eg- 

1872  How   to    Edu- 

33 

A  Plantation  Heroine  III 

gleston 

cate  Yourself 

Two  Gentlemen  at 
Petersburg  VIII 

A  Breach  of  Etiquette 
VIII 

A  Meeting  in  the  Heart 

Henry      Morton 

1872  How   I    found 

32 

Stanley 

Livingstone 

of  Africa  V 

Richard  Jefferies 

1873  Reporting,  Ed- 
iting, etc. 

25 

39 

The    Physique   of  a 

Woodcutter  IV 
The  Lyra  Prayer  IV 

Alice  Meynell 

1875  Preludes 

San    Lorenzo    Giustini- 
ani's  Mother  III 

John  Addington 

1875  The    Renais- 

35 

S3 

An  Episode  VI 

Symonds 

sance  in  Italy 

Robert  Louis  Stev- 

1878 An      Inland 

28 

44 

Heather  Ale  II 

enson 

Voyage 

William  Watson 

1880  The     Prince's 
Quest 

22 

Changed  Voices  VII 

Emily  H.  Hickey 

1881  A  Sculptor 

36 

A  Sea  Story  III 

James     Kenneth 

1885  International 

26 

33 

Lapsus  Calami  IX 

Stephen 

Law,  etc. 

Charles   Cracroft 

1885  Echoes      of 

3° 

36 

A  Football  Player  IV 

Lefroy 

Theocritus 

Childhood  and  Youth  IV 

Arthur  Christopher 

1886  Memories      of 

24 

Winter  Harvests  VII 

Benson 

Arthur  Hamilton 

Henry    Woodfen 

1886  The  New  South 

35 

38 

The  Confederate  Soldier 

Grady 

after  the  War  III 

Rudyard  Kipling 

1886  Departmental 
Ditties 

21 

The  Drums  of  the  Fore 

and  Aft  II 
Soldier  and  Sailor  Too  II 

William  Canton 

1887  A  Lost  Epic 

42 

The  Crow  VII 

William  Ernest 

1887  A     Book    of 

38 

Enter  Patient  III 

Henley 

Verses 

Operation  III 

A.  Conan  Doyle 

1888  A    Study    in 
Scarlet 

29 

"Ware  Holes  III 

William  James 

1890  Principles     of 

Psychology 
1890  Poems     (pos- 

48 

Habit  X 

Emily  Dickinson 

56 

The  Railway  Train  VII 

thumous) 

The  Humming-BirdVII 

Norman  Gale 

1892  A  Country  Muse 

3° 

Dawn  and  Dark  VII 

Ednah    Proctor 

1897  An  Opal 

Hannah  the  Quakeress 

Clarke 

III 

Charlotte     Perkins 

A  Man  Must  Live  III 

Stetson 

Unique  in  plan  Complete  in  treatment 


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